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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176222">A Little Bit Brighter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_CTWK/pseuds/Hannah_CTWK'>Hannah_CTWK</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa'>Ponderosa (ponderosa121)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Little Bit Brighter [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon, BAMF Dani Powell, BAMF Malcolm Bright, Bright remembers how to do his job (most of the time), Capable JT Tarmel, Case Fic, FBI Agent Malcolm Bright, Flirty Malcolm Bright, Gen, JT isn't in the NYPD yet, The team meet in 2014, a little bit of whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:15:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_CTWK/pseuds/Hannah_CTWK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Join me in a world where the Major Crimes team meet five years earlier, in the summer of 2014. </p><p>Malcolm comes home for a mandatory work break and checks in with Gil, who’s running Narcotics with a sharp Detective Powell. Looking to fill time, he tags along on their case of tracking down a new drug whose potency is unparalleled. The case takes them to a VA clinic where they meet veteran counsellor JT Tarmel who takes a personal interest, as well as a charity auction with his mother. Be prepared to meet a Bright who’s a got it together a smidge more than we’re used to, and just can’t help getting in on any type of action.</p><p>Artwork includes cover art, quote lettering and an illustration of Malcolm's new hobby.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Little Bit Brighter [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Monday Posts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Am I Wrong?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/gifts">tess_genor</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creative_Cha0s/gifts">Creative_Cha0s</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you for deciding to spend some time in this little world of mine, as I writer i really appreciate it! </p><p>Thanks to <a href="/users/tess_genor/">tess_genor</a> for being an amazing beta and cheerleader to work with. Thanks to <a href="/users/Ponderosa121/">Ponderosa</a> for being a fantastic teammate and creating the most amazing art for this story, and <a href="/users/Creative_Cha0s/">Creative_Cha0s</a> for your awesome lettering. I am humbled by the amazing pool of talent in this fandom, and hope you enjoy your time here in 2014 :o)  </p><p>Let's start this adventure with the most kick-ass cover art by the one and only Pond, and a taste of FBI Agent Bright in action!!!!</p><p>(A note from ponderosa: there was some critique left on this story from a guest account. The critique has been noted, however, since the author DID NOT INVITE IT and it included commentary about the fandom and the bang in general, I've gone ahead and deleted it and turned off anon comments. If Hannah would like to respond as the author, she can, but imo this is not an appropriate forum and your first instinct to hesitate to say anything was the correct one, there are other venues to have a conversation about this including the discord she's linked to in the end notes or by contacting the moderators of the bang.)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Titles have been inspired from songs that were on the Billboard Hottest 100 for 2014. See if there's any you recognise on your way through the story!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 1</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Thursday 14th</b>
  <b> August, 2014- The outskirts of Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm watches his feet as he walks down a hill carved on the side of a forested mountain, heading towards the cluster of police who are setting up a cordon on an isolated driveway. Someone in the group notices his approach and six heads snap up to look at him, their gazes cold and unwelcoming. Chalk this up as another trip where he won’t be on the Christmas card list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning officers. Have we got eyes on our suspect?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A curt nod is all he receives by way of a greeting, the Jim Thorpe deputy keeping strictly to business. “We’ve got confirmation that he’s in the cabin. We’re just figuring out how to get the guy out."</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to make sure he’s not going to be able to run. This psychopath isn’t the type to surrender, and he won’t seek out a confrontation. He’ll most likely want to flee.” Malcolm explains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cop huffs before answering, his voice dripping with disdain. “We’ve done this before, Agent Bright. I think we can figure this out without you, seeing as we live here and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm needs to smooth over the feathers he inadvertently ruffled. It’s too early in the op to lose the help of the locals. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I mean is-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A buzzing in his pocket distracts him, and a glance at the name of the caller elicits a groan. It’s his fourth call from the same number this morning. Usually they get the message that he’s busy and wait for him to call back. Whatever the topic is can’t wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, I have to take this.” Malcolm starts to walk back up the hill to his car, his not-so-best buddies having no need to hear this particular conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling! Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> you been? I’ve been calling all morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware, mother. I’m currently on a case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re always on a case. You need to make time for your mother dear. I’m checking to see if you’re still coming home next week and be around to accompany me to the Mount Sinai charity art auction?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the reason for the incessant phone calls. A social event.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mother… I am currently in the forest… about to arrest somebody…Can’t this wait?” Malcolm huffs as he fights the steep incline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you panting dear? People like us don’t pant while they’re on the phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a hill. I’m walking up it. It’s not that difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well stop walking so I can finish talking to you. So, you are still coming home, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm sighs. “Yes, the FBI has mandated I take some leave since my last break was six months ago. I will be there.” He had a whole week to come up with something else to be doing that evening, he just needed her off the phone. Glancing down the hill to the huddle of cops, he noticed that their faces were looking more unimpressed with every passing second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother continues on, she’s got nothing but time, “Wonderful! Now, the auction next week. I’ve spent five years trying to score an invitation and we’re back in, sweetheart! We’ll need to meet next week to discuss-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm can’t wait anymore, “What’s that? I’m a forest and you’re breaking up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother raises her voices as if it will help him hear better. “Malcolm? Malcolm, can you hear me? I was talking about the auc-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moth-  call- late-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm hangs up before he can hear the reply screeching through the tiny speaker. He slips his way back down the gravelly road to the assembly of cops who had started to gear up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He claps his hands and attempts a friendly greeting. “So, do we have a plan yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The senior captain speaks for the group “Yeah, we got a plan. We’re gonna come up the driveway and order him to come out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm looks dubious. “What about the other side of the cabin? There’s one tiny door we can see on this side, I’m presuming the rear side with the huge balcony might have an exit somewhere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cop waves his concerns away. “Well sure, but he’s gonna want to go for the car in the garage, so we’ll cut him off there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deep breaths, Malcolm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Our killer will have an extreme flight reaction if you confront him with this many people, coming from one direction at the same time. He’ll see it as an attack, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>make a dash for the bush, that much I can promise. Can I have at least one of you join me, make it a bit more even?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunglasses swivel from side to side as the cops all look to one another to volunteer. There are no takers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Well, you go and scare our suspect, I’m going to walk around the back and wait for him there.” Malcolm tugs at his FBI issued vest and makes his way towards the cabin. “Your reports will all be great reading when you have to explain why you left an entire side of the property unprotected, but that’s your call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground is firm beneath his feet as he gives the cabin a wide berth. The man inside, twenty-eight year old Brett Timmins had killed four women so far, and the information from the locals was that he was reserved and always one to avoid confrontation. He wouldn’t be looking for a bloody showdown with the police, the rear of the cabin would be his only option. As he expected, two huge bifold doors are centred on the back wall. Escape route one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm surveyed the uneven ground and could see a trail carved out between the trees, leading further down the hill towards the river below. Malcolm would bet his left shoe that’s where Brett would run towards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm finds a tree to lean on that’s out of any possible line of sight from the cabin and waits for the chatter on his comm to tell him when to be ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end he doesn’t even get a heads up of the advance, just the faint shouting of the police that ends up being carried on the breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, guys,” Malcom thinks to himself. He pushes a button to open the channel. “Can somebody tell me what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence is conspicuous. Malcolm strains his ears to figure out what is happening; the shouted warnings are getting closer together before shots suddenly crack through the air. Malcolm lifts the strap securing his gun in his belt so he’s ready and darts towards the trail, hoping to get as close to the trail as possible before Brett makes a run for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a grinding from the balcony above as the door slides open, and sure enough the scrawny figure of Brett Timmins bolts across the deck and flies down the stairs.  The checkered shirt he’s wearing flaps in the wind as he jumps the last few steps onto the green ground. There’s no point drawing his gun, this guy isn’t stopping for anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FBI, STOP!” Malcolm shouts, all the while keeping pace with their panicked suspect. It was a long shot he would listen, but he felt the need to try. Timmins was twenty feet in front of him but moving quickly, his sure feet familiar with the terrain and setting a ferocious pace for Malcolm to follow. He called on all his ballet training to balance on the mossy ground, watching where Timmins placed his feet to minimise any sudden slips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had been running on the trail for a few minutes. Malcom’s chest burns from the exertion. The thick vest he’s wearing feels like a python, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter as his lungs fight for as much oxygen as they can get. His fingers find the release clips and he ditches his vest, guessing if he hasn’t been shot at by now it’s because Timmins hasn’t got a weapon to fire at him. Lung capacity is more important right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The path twists towards a river lined with rocky outcrops and Malcolm can see a log bridge suspended above the trickling water. That was the escape route Timmins was counting on. Malcolm needs to stop him before he reaches the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets his chance when Timmins misjudges the sturdiness of the rocky embankment and he loses his footing for a moment, his long legs bicycling like crazy trying to regain their rhythm. Malcolm uses the opportunity to close the distance between them. Just as Timmins reaches the river’s edge, he lunges at his target, pinning the man’s arms as they fall into the shallow water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Timmins thrashes wildly underneath Malcolm while he tries to grab his suspect’s arms to subdue him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brett...please...stop...I don’t ugh-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Timmins manages to connect a fist to Malcolm’s diaphragm, and he’s momentarily winded. He falls forward onto his suspect, clutching his heaving chest as his lungs try to sync back up with the rest of his body. Timmins throws a punch to push his advantage and Malcolm sees stars for a second as a fist connects with his cheek. Malcolm leans over to his right side and Timmins starts to scrabble away from the dazed agent. Sensing he’s about to lose his suspect for good, Malcolm attempts a hail mary and reaches for the bottom of Timmins’ left leg. The man is preparing to leap away like a hundred-metre sprinter, and miraculously, his hand finds purchase on a soggy pair of jeans. Malcolm pulls with all the strength he has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Timmins slips again and knocks his head on the rock as he falls down. Malcolm uses the opportunity to crawl onto the man’s back, pull his hands behind his back and cuffs him before he can recover. Once Timmins is safely secured, Malcolm falls back onto his ass and braces his arms on his knees, waiting for the world to stop spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that was different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a moment to collect himself and admires the isolated beauty of the Appalachian wilderness and the soft naturistic sounds of the forest, admiring the slow current of the river as the water ebbs and flows past him. It’s not often he gets a view like this on this job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick check of his person reveals no major injuries, though his shirt will be heading for the bin. The water-logged, translucent cotton sticks to his side, leaving his toned muscles exposed to the elements. The rocks presumably ripped the delicate fabric to shreds during the scuffle. He’ll need to find his vest on the way back to the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A scraping sound to his left brings him out of his reverie, Timmins is twisting his head and tensing his body, ready to run again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not so fast, Brett. We need to have a chat first.” Malcolm cranes his neck around to check for sounds of upcoming backup, but he only hears the trickle of the water behind him. Sighing, he stands, pulls his arrested suspect to his feet, and guides him back towards the path.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go back to your place, shall we? We’ll read you your rights there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The return pace is far slower than their first flight down the path as the two exhausted men make the climb back up the hill. Timmins isn’t one for conversation, as Malcolm expected. The pair don’t have any company until they’re two hundred feet from the cabin, where they come across two local PD officers, their guns drawn and pointed at the suspect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put the guns down, officers. You’re not under any threat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officers don’t look convinced. “Are you sure?” says one, “You’re missing half your shirt. You can’t tell me that this guy isn’t dangerous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm takes a deep breath and places his body slightly ahead of Timmins, shielding the suspect from any potential stray bullets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you that Brett would run, and he ran very well. It required a little bit of effort to get him to stop. I am fine, and you have your suspect. Can we take this somewhere a bit more civilized?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cops hold their positions for a few seconds before slowly lowering their weapons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm exhales in relief, “Excellent. Let’s head up the hill, and maybe see if Mister Timmins has a shirt I can borrow.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Monday 17</b>
  <b>th</b>
  <b> August 2014- Malcolm’s Loft, NYC</b>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stepping into the baking heat from his Uber, Malcolm took a moment to curse the weather. Summer in New York was always an assault on the senses, the claustrophobic nature of the streets always amplified the smells and sounds that swirl around the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The loft on Lafayette Street was a gift from his mother after his last trip home ended in a bit of a flap with his hotel of choice, and no amount of money had been able to prevent him from being blacklisted as a guest. His mother knew that Malcolm staying under her roof only resulted in both of them getting zero sleep, so her solution was a little slice of New York to call his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quite liked how the graffitied doors on the street belied the order hidden inside. It was the opposite of his own psyche; a chaotic mess of memories and triggers dressed up in yards of simple, elegant fabric. Today’s Ralph Lauren was now looking a little less refined with the sweat stains from the day’s commute, a dip in the pool would be the first thing on the cards just as soon as he could find the keys. There was definitely enough time between now and his family dinner with Ains and Mother for a swim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**********************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s 7pm when the car pulls up to the Milton family home. Technically it was the Whitly home, but his mother’s ancestors were the ones that built it, and that nugget of truth made it a bit easier for him to cross the threshold every time he visited. Louisa opens the front door as per usual, and with a smile he walks past her into the foyer. His eyes fall to the white and black mosaic tiles, and he catches his breath as his mind casts back to fifteen years earlier. The night his father was arrested. The vivid red of his father’s sweater stands out brightly against the stark floor, the earnest whisper of the words “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re the same</span>
  </em>
  <span>” tug at the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's ten years old again and the bitter taste of fear materialises in his mouth. It happens every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, is that you?” The melodic voice of his mother calls out from the dining room. “We are five minutes away from eating, must you always leave it ‘til the last minute to show up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm shucks off his jacket and makes his way to the dining room, where his mother awaits at the head of the table, Ainsley to her left. The twelve-seater table is only set for three, it’s been years since the other end of the table had seen any guests. Serial killer husbands will limit the number of welcome guests to a number that rhymes with Nero. Malcolm wondered if his mother switched the chairs around so they would be squashed with wear at equivalent rates. His mother’s stern face is offset somewhat by his sister’s bemused one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, Mother, Ainsley. I had a quick dip after the train and lost track of time.” Malcolm strolls past his chair to the liquor trolley, fixing himself a finger of bourbon before taking his seat at the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While your tardiness is excusable today, I will simply not allow it on Thursday.” Jessica replies. “You will meet me here at 5pm, and we will travel to the auction together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm grimaces, it’s not an idea he’s on board with. “But the venue is closer to my house. Surely it would be easier for me to just meet you there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica raises her eyebrows. “And give you time to come up with some fantastical excuse at the last minute and leave me to fend for myself? Absolutely not. You’re forgetting I’m your mother, and I know what you’re like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s got you there, brother.” Ainsley grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm squints in Ainsley’s direction. “Why aren’t you joining mom, charity auctions are more your thing than mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I have an important job for my internship at NY1, I’ll be in the newsroom that night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re letting you in front of a camera?” Malcolm scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously not, but I’m assisting a person who is.” Ainsley pouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica cuts in, “And we are </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> proud of Ainsley for finding something else to do other than chase murderers. Who knows, maybe you might find something else interesting at the auction and consider a career change!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep wishing, mother, it’s not happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A mother can dream, dear. Now, shall we have some dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica nods to Louisa and three plates are dropped onto the table. His mother has catered to everyone, there’s a vegetable broth for Malcolm and a Lamb rump with rustic vegetables for Ainsley and herself. The conversation lulls as cutlery clinks against crockery. Malcolm is grateful for the breather before the next onslaught from his mother about his choice of career. Halfway through her sweet potato mash, she picks the thread up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what will you be filling your time with while you’re on your little mandated vacation this week? Might I suggest some job interviews at the local Starbucks? Or maybe you can research some of the benefactors coming to the charity auctions, see if they want someone with your skill set to benefit their company? Anything but what you’re doing right now. I mean, you were practically in the wilderness when I called you the other day!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm sighs. “That’s the job, mother. And I happen to like what I do. Pennsylvania was beautiful, you should visit some time. Anyway, I’ve planned to meet up with Gil tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica seems surprised. “Lieutenant Arroyo? I haven’t heard that name in the longest time. You two keep in touch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, he calls every now and then and we catch up. He keeps telling me I’m not FBI material, but I don’t think he’s serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica seems satisfied at his answer. “It sounds like we at least agree on that. What is he doing now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s heading up narcotics. I don’t know what kind of cases he’s got, and I’m not asking. It’s just a social visit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, make sure you don’t. I don’t need you getting caught up in anything dangerous before our event on Thursday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm rolls his eyes. “Heaven forbid something gets in the way of your precious auction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the meal passes with little incident, and the trio adjourn to the lounge room for a nightcap. When they’re settled in (Ainsley with a shiraz, Jessica and Malcolm with another bourbon) Malcolm notices his mother fidgeting with the hem of her top; there’s something on her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out with it mother, what do you want to say?” Malcolm sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica blurts out, “Are you planning on seeing your father while you’re here?”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question takes Malcolm aback. He hasn’t mentioned his father in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is this coming from, mother? What makes you think I would go to see him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you haven’t been in town for a year. I just want to make sure that you won’t hurt yourself by letting him back into your life.” Jessica says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have absolutely no desire to see my father. I’m the one that broke it off with him, remember?” Malcolm assures her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, dear. But I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours, and it did take you ten years to stop seeing him in the first place. You remember the incident in the hotel on your last visit, I’m just wondering if I will need to call in the decorators for repairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm can’t believe he’s hearing this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By all means, mother, book them in for next week. I had that night terror without seeing my father last time, it’ll probably happen again.” Malcolm snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean it like that Malcolm, it’s just that your state of mind is so...” Jessica drifts off and fails to find the words to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, mother? It is not my fault that I found one of my father’s victims in a trunk in the basement of our house.” Malcolm stands to make his point, his temper starting to rise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, not this again. She wasn’t real, dear.” Jessica sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mal, do we really need to talk about this now?” Ainsley asks in a low voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was real, I know it. And I can’t help it if my brain won’t let it go. I’m not staying if you’re going to pretend it didn’t happen. Goodnight, Ains, see you on Thursday, mother.” Malcolm says by way of goodbye, walking briskly to the coat room to grab his things.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Bro, way to leave me high and dry.” Ainsley yells after him. Malcolm ignores her and exits the house quickly, deciding to walk down the street for a while to cool off. His mother has never believed that the Girl in the Box ever existed, but the nightmare is so vivid that Malcolm is certain that she had to be real. It shouldn’t be hard for a mother to believe her son, and every time she denies him the benefit of the doubt the gap between them widens ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gentle breeze cools his seething anger after a few blocks. The tension Malcolm carries in his shoulders slowly seeps away, as the sounds of the city distract him from vignettes that have played in his head countless times over the years.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wrecking Ball</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Morning of Tuesday 18th August 2014- Malcolm’s Loft</b>
</p>
<p>Malcolm stares at his wardrobe, debating what to wear for his meet up with Gil. After several minutes of debating, he picks out a blue three piece with a maroon tie. He might be warm in his selection for the forecast, but a part of him wants to make a good impression at the precinct. He knows he doesn’t have to impress Gil, and yet a part of him is always mindful that a nice suit gets you far further in life than a polo shirt does.</p>
<p>Stepping out of his loft, Malcolm is grateful that the heat today is a dry one. No humidity gives him a little bit more wear out of his suit, but it’s only a matter of time until sweat will inevitably slick down his back and become too much to bear. He crosses his fingers that the taxi will have decent air conditioning for the trip over.</p>
<p>Traffic is heavy as his Uber works its way through the sun yellow cabs and buses. Malcolm uses the trip to scroll through the active Justice Quest pages, adding the odd note in his phone for something to follow up on. Although he wouldn’t be assigned another official case until his leave had concluded, Malcolm preferred to keep his mind as active as possible. It made the chances of triggering a PTSD event far lower than if his thoughts were allowed to wander freely when he was back home. </p>
<p>The red brick building of the police precinct looks imposing in its position on the block. Malcolm hasn’t visited Gil at his place of work before, and he couldn’t deny his professional curiosity was piqued at the thought of seeing how the NYPD stacked up against the local PD’s he’s worked with over the years. He bounds up the steps and pulls the door open to be hit by a wall of cool air. Say what you will about policing budgets, the NYPD at least had good enough air conditioning to keep the officers stationed here in relative comfort. This was a boon for his choice of outfit. </p>
<p>The officer at the front desk pages Gil, and it’s about a minute before a secure door opens to the cry of “City boy!” and the smiling face of Gil Arroyo greets him with a clap on the shoulder.</p>
<p>Malcolm smiles warmly at one of his oldest friends. “Hi, Gil, long time no see.”</p>
<p>“I’ll say. They’re working you too hard in the FBI, Jackie and I never get to see you anymore! You gonna come round for dinner one night?”</p>
<p>“Sure, I’d love to.”</p>
<p>Gil looks at Malcolm’s suit and laughs to himself. “Summer in New York and you still show up in a three piece. You should treat yourself one day and wear something with short sleeves, save all that sweating.”</p>
<p>“Your fashion advice is always welcome, Gil, but I think I’ll take a pass from the king of turtlenecks, thanks.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough, kid.” Gil’s still smiling to himself as Malcolm looks at the security door with interest.</p>
<p>“So, I’ve got some time today, did you want to show me around?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely, come on through. I gotta sign you in as a guest though, seeing as you aren’t on official business.”</p>
<p>Malcolm reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small black wallet. “Well, I do happen to have my credentials with me, just in case something happens.”</p>
<p>Gil shakes his head. “Uh uh, no way. You’re on leave this week, for all intents and purposes you’re a civilian. I don’t want to have to go through the paperwork if something happens to you. Sign the damn visitor log already, there’s someone I want you to meet.”</p>
<p>Malcolm scribbles a quick signature and follows Gil through the heavy door into the chaos that is the NYPD bullpen. Officers are typing and talking at desks crammed up against one another, victims and perpetrators separated by the smallest of barriers. Gil leads them to a set of stairs at the back of the room and walks them up to the first floor, where a small weathered plaque stamped with the word “NARCOTICS’ hangs on the left-hand side of the main doorway.</p>
<p>“Welcome to Narcotics!” Gil announces with a flourish.</p>
<p>The scene on this floor isn’t so much an assault on the senses as the bullpen below. Desks are still crammed together, but most of them are unoccupied at this time of the day. Walls are covered in pin up boards, some with what look like genealogy trees at a glance. Mug shots and covert photos make up the branches, and hastily scribbled notes point to various photos in the tableau. Others have lists of phrases that Malcolm would have sworn came out of a Mad Libs book listed against street names. Gil leads him past all of them to a small office on the right-hand side of the floor, showing Malcolm in before leaning back into the hallway and calling out,</p>
<p>“Powell! Get in here, there’s someone I want you to meet.”</p>
<p>Malcolm turns and watches a woman in her twenties wearing tight black jeans with a burgundy crew top stride down the hall, staring down at a sheaf of papers in her hand. She walks with the confidence of someone well beyond her years, and a mess of black curls cascade just below her shoulders. Her expression is focused and determined.</p>
<p>It’s a look that works. Powell keeps her head down and starts talking before she enters the office.</p>
<p>“The judge came through with the search warrant for the factory, the team’s gearing up downstairs- oh, hi.”</p>
<p>“Detective Powell, this is Malcolm Bright. He’s a long-time friend.” Gil introduces. </p>
<p>Bright nods in Powell’s direction, he knows a proffered hand won’t be taken from her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective. Did I hear you’re about to execute a search warrant? That sounds exciting! What’s it for?”</p>
<p>“We’ve been tracking a- “</p>
<p>“Nope, no, no way.” Gil interrupts.  “You don’t need to know. You’re on vacation.”</p>
<p>“Aw, c’mon, Gil. It’s just one teeny tiny search warrant, what’s the harm? It’s not like I can hop in the van with you.” Malcolm grins mischievously.</p>
<p>“I know what you’re like, Bright. You need to promise that you’ll stay out of it.”</p>
<p>Malcolm crosses his heart with his finger. “I promise.” Gil sighs and nods for Dani to continue.</p>
<p>“Three months ago, a new drug hit the streets. An analogue of crystal meth which gives you twice as long a high, and a more intense one at that. It’s flooded parts of Manhattan and we’ve had a spike in hospitalizations and deaths because of it. Dealers are calling it Jet Fuel.”</p>
<p>“Jet Fuel?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s like Rocket Fuel on steroids. We’ve managed to track the manufacturer of the drug to a factory behind the Newtown Creek wastewater treatment plant. With any luck we’re about to shut it down.”</p>
<p>“And you’re pretty confident it’s being manufactured out of the one factory?” Malcolm asks.</p>
<p>Gil interjects, “According to our intel, yes. And if the warrant has finally come through today, it means I’m going to have to cut this reunion short. Can we reschedule for later this week?”</p>
<p>“Sure thing,” Malcolm nods. “I’ve got a couple of things to organise for Thursday anyway.”</p>
<p>“What, a hot date?” Gil smirks.</p>
<p>“If you think my mother is hot, then yes. She needs a plus one and I’m in town.”</p>
<p>“Well aren’t you the picture-perfect son, helping your mom out?” Gil grins.  </p>
<p>Malcolm shrugs. “That’s me, selfless to the last.”</p>
<p>“Then we’ll rain check for a night other than Thursday. Sorry kid, but we’ve been waiting on this warrant for a week. I don’t want to wait any longer.” Gil raises an arm to guide Malcolm out of the office.</p>
<p>“I understand. It was lovely to meet you, Detective Powell. Good luck with the warrant.”</p>
<p>Malcolm nods to Dani in farewell and follows Gil back to the lobby. As Malcolm pushes on the door to leave, Gil calls out to him in parting, “Don’t go getting into any trouble. Maybe go and see if your friends at Gucci have anything in short sleeves!”</p>
<p>“Sure thing, Gil, I’ll get right on it!” Malcolm gives a final wave and heads back out into the city.  The wall of heat isn’t a pleasant sensation as Malcolm leaves the precinct. Out of sight of everyone he quickly shucks off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves hoping to stave off the beads of sweat threatening to break out along his brow. He calls an Uber and finds one up the street in less than a minute, sighing in relief as the air conditioning blasts through the backseat. The driver turns towards his passenger looking a bit puzzled.</p>
<p>“The app is telling me you wanna go to a sewage plant, is that right? You want to go a sewage plant in <em> that </em>?”</p>
<p>“Not to the sewage plant exactly, just behind it. Provost Street. Thanks.”</p>
<p>Malcolm had been able to glean enough from the photos on the whiteboards and the description of the water treatment plant to figure out a rough idea of where Gil would be executing the search warrant. Gil might want him away from the action, but Malcolm’s curiosity had got the better of him. The chance to watch a drug lab be dismantled was too juicy for his FBI agent brain to ignore.</p>
<p>His Uber pulls up to the industrial area of squat brown brick factories with metal roller doors sitting flush against the walls. Malcolm asks the driver to loop around the block as he scouts for a location to wait for the cavalry to arrive. A lunch bar sitting just around the corner from the rear of the treatment plant was his hiding spot of choice, the other streets had far more visibility to traffic than the cover this little side road offered. Malcolm ordered a coffee before taking up residence at the lunch bar’s solitary table inside.</p>
<p>While he waited Malcolm took a moment to admire the location of this clandestine laboratory. There was an odour in the air that Malcolm couldn’t quite place, most likely from the treatment plant across the street. Cooking any type of crystal meth would create some potent by-product vapours that would arouse suspicion in a busy apartment block. If anyone passing by caught wind of anything here, they would just blame the sewerage plant and keep on walking.</p>
<p>Malcolm only ends up waiting ten minutes before the first unmarked car crawls to a stop in front of his surveillance spot. In a stroke of luck he doesn’t recognise either occupant, so they wouldn’t be able to place him at the precinct from his tour earlier in the day.</p>
<p>His hand drops into his jacket pocket, double checking that his credentials are still there. The little shield inside acted like a golden ticket, granting instant entry to crime scenes and soliciting virtually no questions. Malcolm gives the occupants a minute to orientate themselves before stepping onto the street to introduce himself.</p>
<p>“Excuse me, I’m Malcolm Bright with the FBI. I’m working on a local DC case that’s dealing with Jet Fuel, and Lieutenant Arroyo gave me the details of the warrant you’re executing today.”</p>
<p>The man and woman look skeptical. Malcolm needs to reassure the pair before he gets moved on.</p>
<p>“Look, I know it must seem a little weird for me to just be hanging around some random side street, I mean, who does that! But Gil – I mean- Lieutenant Arroyo called me and told me he was moving now, so I didn’t have a chance to get to the precinct first. But I understand, you do what you need to do.”</p>
<p>Malcolm steps back and clasps his hands behind him, keeping his expression open and relaxed. He hopes dropping Gil’s first name is enough to stop them from calling him.</p>
<p>The two have a quiet chat amongst themselves before the woman calls Malcolm over to them.</p>
<p>“You can stay, Gil’s about five minutes out.”</p>
<p>“Excellent!” Malcolm claps his hands together with a grin on his face. “Now, why don’t you catch me up to speed on this building?”</p>
<p>*******************************</p>
<p>It’s another ten minutes before Gil’s conspicuous Le Mans rumbles onto the now crowded street. Malcolm wraps up the conversation he’s been having in the shade with his two new NYPD friends Tate and Saltos and strides towards the muscle car with arms wide open, grinning wildly. Gil exits the car shooting lasers in his direction.</p>
<p>“Gil! Look who I happened to run into on my memorial tour of the city!”</p>
<p>Gil shakes his head, arms folded across his chest and brow furrowed. “Kid, I thought I told you to go and buy a shirt, and stay out of this!” Malcolm’s getting flashbacks of his time as a teenager.</p>
<p>“Funny thing that, Gucci was all out of shirts so I took an Uber for a drive. By some magical fluke I ended up here.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit, kid. We told you enough back at the precinct to find this place. You’re here because you want to be.”</p>
<p>“C’mon Gil, can you blame me? All I wanted was to see you at work. Now, while I was waiting Tate was filling me in on the intel and-“</p>
<p>“Bright, stop. You aren’t here in an official capacity; I can’t have you here risking my operation.”</p>
<p>“Wait, you think I’m a risk? I work for the FBI!” Malcolm’s voice is rising and Dani steps between the men to diffuse the tension.</p>
<p>“This masculine display is fine and all and <em> totally </em> cliché but you’re starting to attract attention. Can both of you bring it down a notch?”</p>
<p>The two men take a breath. Malcolm speaks first when they resume their conversation.</p>
<p> “Look, all I wanted to say is that Tate filled me in on your plan to execute the warrant and I wanted to mention that there appears to be a back door on the property. You’re going to need coverage on the door, and I can help.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em> can </em> you now?” Gil mocks. “We’ve had unis scope out that door and there’s evidence it’s been boarded up. Once we hit them from the front they’ll have nowhere to go.”</p>
<p>“Have you checked it out for yourself?” Malcolm asks.</p>
<p>“No, I trust my team, Bright. Besides, if anyone is in the clan lab they are likely to be gang members, they won’t run.”</p>
<p>“<em> They </em> might not run, but if you’ve got cooks in the kitchen there’s a good chance they will run to survive. You should put someone on the door, Gil.”</p>
<p> “We’ve got this covered Bright, thank you.” Gil’s agita is increasing again.</p>
<p>“Look Gil, I don’t mind covering the back door just to check the box” Dani offers.</p>
<p>Gil shakes his head slightly. “Thanks Dani, but you’re with me.”</p>
<p>Malcolm throws his hands up in frustration. “You gotta be kidding me, this is Pennsylvania all over again! </p>
<p>“What is that supposed to mean?” Gil asks.</p>
<p>Malcolm brushes the question away. “Nothing, it means nothing. You two go execute your warrant, I’ll wait here for it all to go south and save your case.”</p>
<p>“Malcolm, I told you that you can’t be involved. I can’t have you getting hurt on my watch.”</p>
<p>“I won’t be. Just put me down as a ‘Conveniently Located Citizen’ in your report.”</p>
<p>Malcolm and Gil glare at each other for a moment.</p>
<p>Dani grabs Gil’s elbow and breaks the silence. “Oh-kay. We’re gonna go this way, now. Please stay put, Bright?”</p>
<p>Malcolm softens a little. “I’ll try to Dani, but I can’t promise anything.”</p>
<p>Dani studies him with squinted eyes, “I’m guessing you say that a lot.” </p>
<p>Gil scoffs, “Yeah, it’ll be written on his tombstone one day.”</p>
<p>The NYPD team walks towards the front of the clan lab while Malcolm stays put on the side road. Once Gil is fully engrossed with the rest of his team Malcolm makes his way to the rear access road for the series of buildings on Provost Street, stopping in front of the door with a faded ‘6’ sticker on it. Officer Tate had been very generous with the details while he waited for Gil to arrive, and he knew this was the unit they were going to raid within minutes. He’s not too concerned about what any CCTV cameras might see, Gil’s team was too close for his presence to put him in any danger. There’s no shade on this side of the building so Malcolm removes his jacket and lifts it over his head like a shade cloth, but it doesn’t stop the beads of sweat collecting on his slightly tanned skin.</p>
<p>He needed a swim at the end of today. Just dreaming about his pool seemed to cool him down a bit and make the heat a little more bearable.</p>
<p>Malcolm is brought out of his reverie by an almighty crash from lucky door number 6. Bursting forth from the door is a middle-aged, medium build man with wavy black hair oiled close to his scalp. Safety glasses are perched haphazardly in his hair, and his white lab coat flaps in the artificial breeze his exit created. The look on his face is one of pure panic, but the shock of seeing Malcolm in the alley has frozen him in place. Sensing a chance to net Gil his fleeing suspect, Malcolm attempts a calm introduction.</p>
<p>“Hi there! My name’s Malcolm Bright and I’d like to have a talk with you. Is that okay?”</p>
<p>The man’s breathing is fast as he throws his head from side to side, calculating his best chance of escape.</p>
<p>“Please don’t run, you don’t have to do this.” Malcolm warns. He regrets the words the second they spill out of his mouth as he psychologically places the very same suggestion into the suspect’s mind. The man’s head swivels a few more times before he decides to bolt in the direction of the NYPD’s staging area. Not wanting to start running in his current outfit, Malcolm looks around and finds a T-shaped piece of pipe laying next to a dumpster.</p>
<p>“It’s no axe, but it’ll do!”</p>
<p>Malcolm hefts the pipe up, testing its weight distribution as he catches it before taking aim at the fleeing cook. He lifts both his arms up and launches the pipe at the man. The weight isn’t quite what he’s used to throwing so the trajectory skews downwards, and hits the man in the back of his knees. He goes down like a sack of potatoes and gives Malcolm enough time to catch up.</p>
<p>“I did tell you not to run. How about you and I take a little walk around the corner. I can introduce you to a friend of mine who’s just dying to meet you.” Malcolm pulls the groaning cook up by his diritied lab coat and the two men traverse the short distance to the waiting congregation of police vehicles that his new friend Saltos was minding.</p>
<p>“Saltos! Can you do me a favour and get Gil on the radio? Tell him I’ve got someone he might want to talk to.”</p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Team</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for sticking with the story so far! Enjoy the SFW version of some Malcolm spicyness by the wonderful Ponderosa in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Afternoon of Tuesday 18th August 2014- Gil’s Le Mans</b>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m sorry, you want to do what now?” Gil stares at Malcolm in the back seat with a look of incredulity while they wait at a traffic light. Malcolm repeats his request.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I want to interview your cook. I caught the guy, the least you can do is let me talk to him. See what I can find out for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious, kid! You weren’t even supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> the clan lab-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And yet if I hadn’t been there your cook would have flown out that door, and into the sunset.” Malcolm reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if that’s true, I can’t let an unassigned FBI agent interview a suspect. You know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that, but he wanted in on the investigation anyway. The clothes the man was wearing were atypical for a traditional clan lab set up,” and Malcolm could just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> that there was more to the story than a gang looking for profits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please Gil. I won’t say anything, you won’t even notice I’m there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Gil scoffs, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Remember I know you, Bright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car starts moving and the mood settles into an uncomfortably warm silence. While there is plenty of space in the vintage car the A/C is less than desirable in combating the summer heat. The friction between the two men isn’t helping matters either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he watches the interview next door?” Dani suggests from the passenger window while fanning herself with a clipboard. “I mean, personally, I think you’re a little too erratic to be questioning anything more than a trash can, not to mention the fact that you’re melting all over Gil’s leather seats right now. That being said, a second pair of eyes can’t hurt at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm points a finger and grins at Dani. “See, I knew I was going to like you, Detective. She’s got an excellent point. My eyes are very good at looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm... they’re pretty nice to look at too.” Dani muses. She notices the two men staring at her. “What? A girl can’t admire the man? Have you seen him when he’s not a hot mess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Powell, if you looked up ‘hot mess’ in the dictionary there’s no words, just a picture of Bright.” Gil wisecracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I won’t disagree with you there. What do you say, Gil?” Malcolm pleads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil sighs, and Malcolm knows he’s won. “You can look through the mirror. That’s it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*********************************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm ambushes Gil and Dani as they exit the interview room, barely leaving enough time for the door to click shut before he blurts out</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s lying Gil, you have to see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was forty-five year old Leo Perronito, a manufacturing chemist for Thalte Pharmaceuticals. The man’s occupation explained the presence of safety gear when he was arrested; it was his day job as well as his side job. He’d barely sat down in the chair before words were tumbling out of his mouth in the name of co-operation. His lawyer could do little to stem the tide at the time.     </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil points to his notepad of scribbles. “Perronito admitted to his part in the operation and gave up the recipe for Jet Fuel’s manufacture. That all seemed pretty accurate to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> part was accurate, sure, but his reaction to anyone else being involved? His body language shifted instantly. He was nervous and his eyes were flying all over the place. You need to get back in there and push him on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani faces Malcolm and blocks his progress towards the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright, we’ve been in there watching Perronito document a drug manufacturing process for the last half hour. We all need a break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me get in there, I’ll tap in for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil frowns. “Kid, that’s my red line. You can’t go in that room. And if you ask again, I’m telling you to leave. We still have a job to do here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani looks over his shoulder and nods at someone behind Malcolm. “Hey look, there’s someone else in the city who likes to dress for winter as well. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> that sweater?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil follows her line of sight then his face slackens before he glances over at Bright. Curiosity piqued, Malcolm glances over his shoulder to see what Dani could possibly have meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he sees it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man is standing in the station bullpen wearing a bright red pullover. The hair is a colour close enough to his father’s that in seconds the noise from the busy station is muted and replaced by a high-pitched drone. The lights dim suddenly and the man turns around. Except it’s not a victim of crime, it’s the perpetrator of one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Surgeon flashes a pearly white smile by way of a greeting. “My son, look at you! Long time, no see.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm whispers to himself, “No. You’re not here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leave!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I do that, my boy? You’ve been in town two whole days and you won’t come and visit me. I don’t bite, you know. And once upon a time you did enjoy your visits with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm closes his eyes and takes two deep breaths, vaguely aware of Dani and Gil trying to catch his attention. He opens his eyes to turn to them and finds his father two feet from his face. Instinct causes him to gasp and step back. His father’s smile doesn’t waver as he continues talking to Malcolm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to pretend to play the hero Malcolm, it’s not a good look for you. Come back to me and see what we can do together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re the same</span>
  </em>
  <span>, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shut it out, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Malcolm thinks to himself as he tries to get his breathing under control. The word ‘remember’ reverberates through his skull as his brain registers a hand on his shoulder and the soft call of his name, bringing him back into the busy room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright, you okay?” Gil’s frustration from a moment ago is replaced by one of concern. He’s seen Malcolm do this before and knows what just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm doesn’t want to talk about this now, so he plasters on a smile. “Fine. I’m fine, Gil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Dani asks, unconvinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil answers for him. “Yeah, he’s not. You’re done for the day kid, go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can still help, please.” Malcolm begs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No chance, Bright. You’re spooked, you’re overheating and barely holding it together right now. I can’t have that around my investigation.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes reassuringly.  “Go home, get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm considers arguing again, but he recognises the resolute expression on Gil’s face as the final word on his interrupting for the day. He sighs and drops his shoulders in resignation, Gil words registering a moment later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow? What are we doing tomorrow?” Malcolm queries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil drops his hand and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, if you’re got nothing else planned you can come with us and investigate a lead on one of the Jet Fuel victim hotspots.  Strictly as an observer. Don’t bring any pipes with you, this guy wants our help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I can do that.” Malcolm agrees before Gil changes his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meet us back here at 9am tomorrow, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“9am. I’ll be here.” Malcolm nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Now I want you to go home and have a shower, try and cool down a bit okay? And if you need anything tonight, you call me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Gil.” Malcolm manages a small smile through his lightheaded fog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dani, can you make sure he gets a ride home please? And check the address before he leaves, I don’t want him getting any grand ideas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani nods. “You got it. Come on, Bright, let’s find you a nice cool chariot to ride home in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm follows Dani through the bullpen, the chatter around him barely registering as he replays the vision he’s just had over in his head. He hasn’t spoken to his father in five years and has no intention to start again. And yet every time he returns home to Manhattan his mind always finds something to trigger a PTSD episode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind will never let him forget that his father is here. It’s why he lives in D.C.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani flags a cab outside the precinct and opens the door for Bright, seeing him safely into the backseat. She hovers over the door before closing it, toying with the idea of speaking a thought out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, Detective Powell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I don’t know what happened in there, but I feel like I should say that you should take care tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Dani, I’ll try to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani smirks “There’s one of those promises again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm laughs. “Yeah, but this time I mean it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door shuts and Malcolm’s left to close his eyes and attempt to rearrange his thoughts. He’s got fragments of a case to think about, a social dinner to worry about and visions of his estranged father to forget about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm knows one thing as he heads home. Sleep will not come easy tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****************************************</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Wednesday Morning 19th August– Malcolm’s Loft.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stroke, stroke, stroke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s arms glide through the water and he makes fast work of the pool’s length. The turquoise blue light radiating from the pool illuminates his pale skin as he skims across the rippled surface. The loft has always had a pool, but he’s only started using it with this visit, the repetitive motions and sloshing of the water helps to calm his nerves after a particularly bad night terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s found that his brain switches off once he gets into a rhythm and he easily loses track of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the pool when the door leading to the staircase bursts open and Gil and Dani rush into the room with their guns drawn. They stop pretty quickly when they see Malcolm’s freestyle practice, clearly showing no signs of distress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm slowly plants his feet on the pool’s floor and crouches for a moment, sculling his hands slowly through the unnaturally blue water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Gil, Dani. To what do I owe the pleasure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil’s face is tense as he replies “Pleasure? Do you know what time it is? You were supposed to meet us half an hour ago. You weren’t answering your phone, I thought something might have happened!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you thought it necessary to run around my apartment with your guns drawn the whole time? Did you do it on all the other floors too? That would have been hilarious to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There weren’t any signs of you upstairs, and you didn’t answer when we called out your name. What else were we supposed to do?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably that, I guess.” Malcolm concedes. “So, I take it I need to get changed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind” Gil replies testily. “JT is already waiting for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, let me get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm walks to the steps on the furthest side of the pool and starts to ascend, back muscles moving tightly with each push until his bare ass leaves the water. Splashes of water flick back up his legs, desperate to stay next to his body as he exits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil doesn’t know where to look, but Dani sure does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm, you’re not wearing swim trunks!” he admonishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm shrugs as he walks towards his towel draped on a hook at the end of the room. “Why would I need any when I’m in my own home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Gil, why would he?” Dani agrees. She’s enjoying the view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm keeps his back turned as he drapes the towel around his hips, tucking it in just below his pubic bone. Suitably robed, he turns around and walks towards the officers. He pads slowly across the slate floor, carding his hands through his hair so it’s off his face. The low wattage lighting in the room accentuates the shadows across his body, highlighting his firm pecs and abs. Small rivulets of water trail from his hair down his chest and collect on the lowly hung towel, hair trailing down towards the promise of a good time. Dani takes a moment to appreciate the sight before her as he closes the gap between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm stops a few feet in front of Dani, catches her ogling him and grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See something you like, Detective?” He then bites his lip for her benefit, and suddenly Dani is feeling very warm in such and enclosed space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, well, I just, um...” Words fail the headstrong detective.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil lets out an exasperated sigh “Can you just put some clothes on, Bright? Now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm glances across to Gil and nods, “Sure, give me five minutes.” He steps between the two cops and heads back up to the main floor of his apartment, Gil and Dani trailing a few steps behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani gets to watch the dimples in Bright’s lower back dance as he makes his way up to the third floor, this was definitely the best view she’s had since she broke up with Phoebe. It’s too soon to think about anyone else, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy a fine sight when she sees one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s towel slips down halfway up the flight of stairs so the top of his crack is showing, and a part of Dani wants the whole thing to come off again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoops, damn towel.” Malcolm says as he grabs the towel before it falls off completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need some help there, Bright?” Dani calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay, I’m good.” He says as he pads past the kitchen island towards his wardrobe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil and Dani take up a position behind the couch as they give Bright as much space as possible to get dressed. It’s not long before the immaculate three-piece suited Malcolm is dressed and ready to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil reviews Malcolm’s outfit with his lips pressed into a thin line. “Are we going to do this again today, Bright?” he asks. “It’s gonna get up to 87 outside, grab a polo or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm waggles a finger in Gil’s direction, while reciting one of his mother’s favourite mantras, “One should always make a good impression, Gil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not so much worried about a first impression as I am worried about you passing out from heatstroke.” Gil scoffs. ”Who exactly are you trying to impress? This isn’t an audition for Survivor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani looks at Bright with her arms folded and head cocked to one side. “Gil, Bright is old enough to decide how much sweat he’s gonna pour into that overpriced suit, and personally I’ve always wanted to see how well Tom Ford wicks moisture away compared to good old cotton. C’mon, we can stop by a Bodega on the way to grab some water for when he starts to boil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> **********************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil pulls up to an unassuming building and finds a parking lot just around the corner. The sign out front says “Returned Veterans Clinic”</span>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>is your Jet Fuel hotspot? A VA clinic?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil nods. “There’s been a number of vets who have been admitted to hospital recently presenting with OD symptoms from Jet Fuel. Two of them were unable to recover from the effects and have died in the last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is messed up. Who on earth would target returning vets to buy highly addictive drugs?” queries Malcolm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what we’re here to find out. We’re meeting with one of the counsellors inside.” Dani replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what can I do to help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil gives him a stern look. “You can keep that mouth of yours closed and listen. For all intents and purposes I want you channeling Michaelangelo’s David today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, pensive and mysterious?” Malcolm jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like silent and still.” Gil retorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof. Tough crowd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trio climb the half flight of stairs up to the main entrance and are greeted by an empty hallway with 1970’s tiling. A smooth voice is echoing from a room further down the hallway; seeing nobody else to talk to, the group advances towards the voice. Malcolm notes that the air conditioning is non-existent, which doesn’t bode well for his outfit choice that seemed much more sensible in his cool loft. The scene that greets them when they arrive is typical for any support group. About a dozen women in workout gear are arranged in a rough circular shape on folding chairs, a solidly built man with a buzz cut and a black polo is standing with one foot on a chair and resting his arms on his thigh. His body language is relaxed and open, his voice low and reassuring. He looks up and catches their arrival, gives a short nod before addressing the group again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta wrap this up, but I just want to remind everyone here that you are stronger for coming here today; to keep your body healthy and being open to help. Keep an eye out for those triggers, and remember we’re a phone call away if you need us. Great work everyone.” The man claps his hands to close out the meeting and any replies from the attendees are lost in the scraping of metal chairs on well-worn tiles. Gil gives the counsellor a few minutes with the participants before walking over to introduce himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, I’m Lieutenant Gil Arroyo with Narcotics, this is my associate Detective Dani Powell and my-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil falters at what to call Malcolm. This is the first time he’s had to introduce him on a case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm sticks his hand out by way of introduction. “I’m Malcolm Bright, I’m consulting for Gil on the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my consultant. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s only here to listen today.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gil lays it on thick so Malcolm will take the hint. “I’m looking for a JT Tarmel, is that you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nods. “Yeah, that’s me.” Thanks for coming in to help, we’ve got people droppin’ like flies from this thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you notice attendance numbers starting to drop here?” Dani asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say about three weeks ago was when it became really noticeable. We’re down about a quarter of our regulars that visit. Some other counsellors and I got on the phones trying to follow up on them, and last week was when the phones started getting answered by partners and family members.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think that certain people were targeted?” Dani inquires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT shrugs. “It’s hard to say. All our participants here have some form of PTSD with various triggers to deal with. I’d say the decision to target our centre was a calculated one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vulnerable veterans with memories they might want to escape for a while, it’s not a huge leap in logic for someone to see the opportunity.” Malcolm adds quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and it’s making me really pissed, I won’t lie.” JT agrees. “We serve our country, put our lives on the line only to have someone target us as easy marks? It makes my blood boil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We understand, JT, and we’re going to work with you to close this loop once and for all.” Gil promises. “You’ve seen the list of names we have on victims from this facility, is there anyone we are missing? Are there any similarities between all the names that might narrow down our search?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT pulls a list from his clipboard and hands it to Gil. “Most of them were from my Thursday group session. I’ve been keeping my eyes out for anyone acting out of character but there was no one that came to mind last week.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thursday session, you say?” Malcolm interrupts, trying very hard not to grab the man’s clipboard and wave it as a fan. Tom Ford as it turned out did not wick away moisture particularly well.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright?” Gil’s brow furrows, and Malcolm’s not sure if it’s directed at his flushed face or the fact that he senses Malcolm is about to suggest something outside of protocol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My job is to read people, Gil. JT might not have been able to see anything in his session, but I might be able to. And, I happen to be free tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a thing with your mom, remember?” Gil reminds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm waves Gil’s concern away. “It’s not until the evening, I’ve got plenty of time to fit this in. What time is this group session?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s at 10am.” JT says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect! I’ll get here a bit earlier and you can fill me in on who usually attends.” Malcolm can see Gil about to object so he gets in first. “Look, I know this is a bit unconventional but this way you can run two investigations simultaneously. You can follow up on the people on the list for anything in their backgrounds like normal and I can check out the people in the group for any clues.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani turns towards Gil and mumbles “It could be a way to close the case faster. We need this stuff off the streets now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil considers the situation for a moment before he makes the call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Malcolm, you come here tomorrow, see what you can find out. But you call me the </span>
  <em>
    <span>second </span>
  </em>
  <span>you see something, no going off on your own, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent!” Malcolm exclaims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if you’re going to come tomorrow, you can’t come dressed like that.” JT points up and down at Malcolm’s whole person. “There’s no way anyone is going to treat it like a normal session if you show up dressed like an extra from Mad Men. Plus, you look like someone should have pulled you out of the pot ten minutes ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm chuckles and takes the hit. “I’ll find something a little more appropriate to wear, JT.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re planning a jog and weights workout for the first half of the session, you won’t need a vest, I can promise you that. I also need you to know that this group has some of the worst complex PTSD diagnoses in this support clinic. Are you gonna be okay with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sad smile creeps on to Malcolm’s face. “I’ve had a little bit of experience with PTSD, I’ll keep that in mind tomorrow.”  His heart rate increases slightly at the mention of the condition he’s been living with since he was ten, and he takes a moment to regulate his breathing to slow it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani claps her hands together “So, we’re dividing and conquering tomorrow. Gil and I will run down leads the old-fashioned way, and Mr. Sweaty over here will see what he can find out with JT”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, kid, you don’t need the jacket with us. Take it off before you pass out.” Gil says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm is well and truly baking in his suit but his pride won’t let him admit it out loud. His suit is as important as his bulletproof vest when he’s working, it’s a wall he can put up between himself and his colleagues of the week. While the vest protects him from bullets and shrapnel, the suit holds his fractured psyche together. It acts as armour from the whispering and jeering of the people he inevitably offends, however accidental the offence may be. They need never know who he really is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Gil, I’ll just need to grab some coffee.” Malcolm declares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should try the water first.” Dani suggests, looking down at his hand. “I don’t think you need that hand to shake any more than it already is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm hadn’t even noticed it was shaking. Clenching it quickly to avoid further scrutiny he plasters a smile on his face and barrels on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I might take you up on that suggestion, Detective. Gil, would you mind giving me the keys to the car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil shakes his head once. “No need, Bright, I think we’re done here. Thank you so much for your time today, JT, we’ll be in touch if we find anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT shakes Gil’s offered hand and the trio leaves the clinic, with Malcolm downing an entire bottle of water back in the car. On the way back to Malcolm’s loft, Gil and Dani start gaming out a plan on how to investigate the veterans at the clinic, but Malcolm is only half listening. He keeps wondering what kind of person would overlook their conscience to willingly push such a dangerous drug on to people who were already struggling with trauma. His best bet was someone who needed the money over everything else. Maybe he could prove that theory tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil rolls the car to a shuddering halt when he arrives at the loft; the car’s ancient brakes were not what they used to be. He turns to the backseat and gives him The Talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Bright, now that you’ve had a personal chauffeur service bring you to your door, can I expect you to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm rolls his eyes, but his answer is subdued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Gil, I think I’m just going to rest. Thanks for the lift, I’ll call you tomorrow if I find anything out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likewise, kid. And for Jackie’s sake, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> go and find something without sleeves to wear. You look so hot I think I could cook a pizza on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.” Malcolm sees himself out of the car and into his loft, peeling off his sweat soaked shirt as he walks straight across the foyer to the pool room. The suit was not the best of ideas for today, and Malcolm realises that his well-being has to come before his fear of people finding out who he really is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hindsight is a wonderful thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>************************************************</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>Wednesday Afternoon- Lower Manhattan</b>
</p><p>
  <span>After a refreshing swim Malcolm heeds Gil’s advice and changes into a more casual style to ride out the oppressive Manhattan heat. He’d given it an hour or so, pacing the space between his bed and the couch with just his mind to keep him occupied before he’d had enough of his own company. He’d opened the door and started walking on the shady side of the street, deciding that being familiar with the surrounding streets of his home would be a good idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heading in a south east direction he found a few cafes dotted in between clothing stores of brands he didn’t entirely recognise. Ainsley would know all of them, he was sure of that. Longchamps and Diesel vied for pedestrian’s attention on Spring Street, neither looked appealing to Malcolm’s sense of fashion so he kept walking. Arriving at the intersection with Wooster Street a smooth white façade stamped with five letters caught his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>GUCCI.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil told him to buy a shirt from there, maybe he might take a look and get one as a joke. He makes his way into the store, only then remembering that he’s not wearing his usual ensemble. It’s time for his power of invisibility to manifest!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking through the racks, Malcolm can’t imagine some of these suits ever seeing the light of day outside of somebody’s wardrobe. Bright sun yellow overlaid with purple and olive flowers was definitely not his cup of tea, let alone the daring wide sleeve design they had opted to cut. They were nice to look at, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only shirts he can see are a basic cotton tee with the logo stamped on them. He grabs one in black and makes a beeline for the cashier until something catches his eye, a TV screen playing the highlights of the summer 2014 fashion show. On the screen currently is a man walking down the runway in a mailbox blue suit with small red squares dotted on the fabric in a lined pattern. The small squares fill in an inch above the jacket and pant cuffs to create a border, and the black satin shirt underneath it pops with vibrant pink, red and blue tropical flowers with green foliage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s gorgeous, and he wants it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” he waves at a sales woman who seems disturbed at his energetic arm movement. “Do you have this suit here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we do.” The middle-aged woman barely stops as she continues on her trajectory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an event tomorrow night and I need a suit. Would you have one in my size?” Malcolm asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This makes the sales woman stop and assess Malcolm properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What event might that be?” she asks slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a charity auction; The Mount Sinai Crystal Ball.” he answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman’s eyes blow wide with recognition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re headed to such a prestigious event, you must have a suit fit for the occasion! Follow me, Mister……?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright. Malcolm Bright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me, Mr. Bright.” The woman turns towards the back of the store and motions for him to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm is whisked away to a private dressing room and the suit is brought to him. He’s in good shape and the suit only needs minor alterations to fit his average height frame, but he’s in love with it. The fabric is soft and cool to the touch, perfect for a hot New York night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps up the purchase and organizes delivery of the suit to his loft once the alterations are complete. He heads back to his building with a smile on his face. He may not have a choice about going tomorrow night, but at least he’s got something to wear that he feels good in, and will bear no resemblance to the tux his mother will try to make him wear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother hating it might be an added bonus. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Boom Clap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Thursday 20th August- VA Clinic 9am</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The New York heat isn’t quite in full swing as Malcolm enters the clinic for the second day in a row, with a sports bag in tow. In the office space on the right he finds JT in a tight army shirt and basketball shorts, flipping through paperwork. The shirt stretches across his firm biceps and pecs, and Malcolm admires the view for a moment before clearing his throat to announce his arrival. JT looks over Malcolm once before smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom Ford, how are you! I see you managed to find something a little more dressed down in that closet of yours.” JT jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been known to exercise in the past, JT.” Malcolm replies. “Where can I put my bag?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can leave it here, another counsellor will be in the office when we’re out at 10.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm sets his bag down and claps his hands together. “So, what can you tell me about the session I’ll be joining today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pilot program the VA is trialing, looking at a focus on physical movement coupled with a group discussion.” JT explains. “Recent studies have suggested that exercise coupled with traditional therapies improve clinical outcomes for chronic PTSD sufferers. And heaven knows we have plenty of those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s no secret, unfortunately. What kind of workout do you run here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do a thirty-minute jog route around the block, followed by a thirty-minute interval weight workout. I tailor the exercise to the groups I see, the women’s group I took yesterday chose a jog followed by yoga. Getting input from the group improves the chances of them sharing in the group session afterwards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s smart. Opening up about your stressors and your reactions can be tough. I know I’m not one who likes to share.” Malcolm admits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT looks surprised, “PTSD is something you’re familiar with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm nods once. “I didn’t serve, if that’s what you mean. My father...I mean…” Malcolm pauses for a moment as he agonises over how much to admit. He decides against coming out as Malcolm Whitly today, in a VA of all places. “Something happened to me when I was ten, and I’ve lived with it ever since. I also have the add on bonuses of depression and generalised anxiety to round out the trifecta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow man, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you might find something more than just a lead on a case today.” JT replies, his expression sombre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm offers a small smile in reply. “Thanks, JT.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT returns to his paperwork briefly, and Malcolm is surprised at how comfortable he is around him. It’s unlike him to volunteer any information about himself at the best of times, yet with JT Malcolm can sense the man is sincere in his concern. The pride he takes in his work is clear as day for Malcolm to see. A few minutes passes before Malcolm speaks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, before we start looking into who’s coming today, can I ask you what drew you to this job?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you can.” JT answers. “I returned from Afghanistan 18 months ago, 25</span>
  <span>th</span>
  <span> Infantry Division and felt lost without a sense of purpose. I didn’t feel like I could go back to studying, so I was spending a lot of time talking to veteran’s groups who help returned service people reintegrate. I happened to be around when they were looking for vets to help with this program.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What drew you to the program, if you don’t mind me asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keeping in touch with my army buds was a big one. We’re the first line of defence for people like me, to keep an eye on them and let the docs know when someone’s symptoms look to be escalating. Asking for help is hard to do, we try to bridge that gap.” JT stops for a moment to size Malcolm up. “The Lieutenant mentioned your job is to read people, is that what you’re doing right now? Are you reading me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all.” Malcolm reassures. “I’m just curious, is all. I can tell you really care about the job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT purses his lips before answering. “I guess I like the feeling that I’m helping someone. I don’t think I’ll do it forever, but it’s enough for now. This whole Jet Fuel situation has thrown me, though. Somebody is targeting us, and I can’t do a damn thing to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re helping the NYPD with me being here today, that’s not nothing.” Malcolm replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but it’s not the same. I want to go and track down these sons of bitches who are hurting my army family and put ‘em away.” Something flashes in JT’s eyes at this admission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I can understand.” Malcolm agrees. “So how do you want to play my presence here today? The truth is obviously out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT considers Malcolm for a moment. “How about we go with you being from Intelligence. Those guys were always a bit weird, and Lord knows you got no problems fitting that bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you mean, JT. I, myself, am the epitome of normal.” Malcolm jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT gives him the side eye. “Yeah, you’re the person we would look out for in the field as the one most likely to shoot his own foot off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think my training at Quantico would keep any Daffy Duck style shootings to a minimum.” Malcolm brags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT seems impressed. “Quantico hey, you really are Intelligence. You know the drill, just say as little as possible and you’ll be fine. You got a pair of Ray Bans in there to complete the look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm laughs, “Sadly, it’s just shirts and shorts. I’ll keep my contributions to a minimum, just in case.” He checks the time and realises they’re short on it before the session is due to start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, in the spirit of being as prepared as possible, why don’t you talk me through who should be coming today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*********************************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Bright, I reckon you’ve got three more in you!” JT cheers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was barely the bat of an eyelid from anyone as JT introduced Malcolm to the group at the beginning of their run. The arrival of new people who attend from week to week was nothing new here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group of 14 had finished their street jog, made their way back to a converted gym in the VA clinic, and split into pairs. Each pair was now using dumbbells, ropes, or a medicine ball as part of a workout rotation. Malcolm had tamed the ropes pretty well and was now working on his upper arms. JT and Malcolm’s shirts were plastered to their muscular bodies from the sweat, and the mood in the gym was rowdy with whoops of support and grunts of exertion. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“1 minute remaining”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The warning blared through the speakers in between some punchy motivational music. Malcolm could feel the burn in his triceps as he pushed the weights above his head, his teeth gritted in determination. A HIIT wasn’t his usual style and his muscles weren’t used to the sudden exertion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hughhhhhhya!” he grunts as his arms are fully extended, before slowly lowering his elbows back to shoulder height.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice control, man. I’m impressed!” JT commends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm doesn’t reply, instead he takes a deep breath before squeezing one last rep in before the siren sounds. He lowers the weights gently, letting them drop the last foot onto the mat underneath the bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s how the FBI does it, let’s see what the army can do?” Malcolm teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you better believe it is on!” JT grins, picking up a heavier dumbbell set and settling onto the bench. Malcolm admires JT’s technique as he flexes his thick biceps up and down, maintaining a rhythm that a circuit regular would recognise anywhere. With one minute to go JT starts to show signs of fatigue, the reps taking longer to complete with each passing second. When the timer hits thirty seconds JT’s hand gets the wobbles and Malcolm steps in to cheer him on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go, army boy. Are you gonna go home to your partner tonight and tell them a skinny FBI kid beat you at weights?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah- No partner- ugh- but my frenchie will only hear of my victory!!” JT manages through gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The buzzer sounds again and there’s a collective groan as the group collapses for a minute to rest. Malcolm reaches for their water bottles and passes JT’s to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it from me after yesterday, water is important right now.” Malcolm grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it from a person who was deployed to the desert for months, I know, bro.” JT takes a huge swig from his bottle in between heaving breaths, his chest muscles all on display as he does so.  Malcolm would have liked his shorts to have been a bit tighter, but you can’t have everything in life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****************************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About twenty minutes after the circuit session, the group relocates to a neighbouring room to start the therapy portion of the session. As they start to set up the folding chairs, Malcolm can feel his heart racing slightly in anticipation of being back on the job. Catching killers doesn’t usually afford him the opportunity to try and profile so many people at once, so the chance to do it while on vacation is quite the treat. He just needs to keep his fatigued muscles in check, the workout had activated muscles that his swimming and yoga missed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm wants to seat himself directly opposite of JT, so he’s out of anyone’s direct eye line and therefore less likely to make any one person overly nervous. Sitting down quickly, he leans back into the chair and crosses his legs in his favourite profiling position, but he’s misjudged the width of the chair and his post workout muscles can’t slow his momentum in time. In seconds his back slides off the back of the chair and he tumbles onto the floor. A small blush creeps into his cheeks out of sheer embarrassment, and there’s hearty chuckling at his expense around the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess we gotta be thankful sitting on chairs wasn’t a job requirement in Intelligence, hey?” JT quips, a twinkle sparkling in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could turn it on when I needed to. Don’t you worry about me, Bullet Catcher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OOOOOOOHHHHH!” The men whoop and cheer at the display of friendly rivalry, giving Malcolm enough time to reorient himself on the lightweight chair. After another minute of barbs being traded a lull breaks through, and JT takes the opportunity to steer the conversation back to where it needs to be. “Okay, who’s ready to share their squirrel experience in Central Park from the last week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The discussion among the men starts off with people sharing stories from the last seven days, and JT does a masterful job at facilitating the conversation between everyone. There are people from all branches of the armed services; infantry, bomb disposal, clearance diving, Air Force security, though the army has the biggest proportion of attendees. The relaxed atmosphere dissipates in a flash when former IED specialist Trevor brings up Jet Fuel. A pall falls upon the group as Trevor recounts to the group an update on their friend Harry, who’d been found unconscious in his apartment last Friday. Malcolm scans the room as the group finds out that Harry hasn’t woken up from his overdose, and they wouldn’t be able to check if the meth induced stroke he had caused any permanent damage. JT’s face is serious while his eyes are flitting from person to person, presumably looking for the same visual cues that Malcolm is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One man attracts Malcolm’s attention; a very skinny man with ginger hair and absolutely no ability to sit still. During the catch-up conversation at the start his hand tremor could pass for a normal PTSD symptom, but when the discussion changed to Jet Fuel his tremors turned up a notch. The shaky hand is joined by a bouncing knee, and he starts to absentmindedly scratch the top of his leg over his shorts. He’s distracted from his scratching by a question from JT.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything you’d like to say about Harry, Grant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grant is startled by the mention of his name, and when he looks up his eyes are moving so quickly they look as if they are vibrating in their sockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ah, I’m sorry for the guy. Really.” Grant looks down at his knees once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two seemed pretty close last week, did you want to talk about it after the session today?” JT asks, nudging ever so gently to get Grant re-engaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no I’m fine. It’s fine.” Grant shuts down again, but not before a micro expression of guilt flashes across his face. Malcolm makes a note to talk to this man after the meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three other people decide to share a story of struggling in the last week, and as they talk about the symptoms they had to work through Malcolm finds himself nodding along in recognition. It was oddly comforting that even though this group of men had experienced a type of trauma that Malcolm could only dream of, he wasn’t the only person in the city struggling day to day. It’s not surprising to see so many people sign up for the program.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm remains quiet throughout the discussion, until JT juts his chin upwards and asks, “What about you, Malcolm? You got anything you want to share?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm considers the question, before answering softly, “Not today. Maybe next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT gazes across the circle for a few seconds before shrugging his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, next time it is.” JT then calls the session to a close with a rap of his clipboard on the back of his chair. Unlike the Wednesday session, this group doesn’t disperse immediately when JT calls time. The mood is sombre as the men huddle together and discuss their missing friends. JT makes his way over to Malcolm and speaks in a low voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you pick up on anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm nods once, “What can you tell me about Grant?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT looks down for a moment to recall the relevant information. “Grant Hough? Nice kid. He’s been back stateside six months after a tour in Iraq with the Army, and coming to our sessions for the last two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His body is showing signs of severe stress, and they were at their worst when you were talking about Harry. I suspect he is using Jet Fuel at the very least, he may know something about the dealer here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT frowns in concern. “Well he’s usually one of the last ones here, is there anything else you ‘vibed’ in the meeting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm smirks at the joke. “You know I don’t ‘vibe’ things, right? I just know what I’m looking for. There wasn’t anyone else that was behaving strangely, if that’s what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay then. We’ll wait a bit until we talk to him.” JT decides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are interrupted by former clearance diver Isaac who wants  to talk to JT one on one. So Malcolm excuses himself and uses the time to watch Grant from a distance. Figuring he can kill two birds with one stone, Malcolm fishes his phone out from his gym bag and calls Gil. He picks up on the second ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey kid, you still standing after a workout with some army folk?” Gil jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still on two feet, if that’s what you’re asking.” Malcolm retorts. He’s barely upright if he’s being honest with himself. There’s got to be a table or something around to lean next to for support around here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be the judge of that this afternoon, city boy. What have you got for us with the VA group?” Gil asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think there’s a guy worth talking to. Grant Hough, only been coming for two months but he’s got classic signs of meth use. JT and I are going to talk to him in a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Malcolm.” Gil replies firmly. “Your job today was to find leads, not question potential suspects. Text me over the details and you can advise us on what you saw this afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But tomorrow could be too late. I’m here, I know what I’m doing! Let me help.” Malcolm pleads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My answer is final, kid. Get the info we need from JT and meet me back here at the precinct. No side adventures, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm sighs audibly into the phone, “Fine. I’ll get what you need.” Gil doesn’t respond, opting to end the call as confirmation that his instruction has been received.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil doesn’t know what he wants though. Malcolm has a feeling he can shut this down today. He’ll ask for forgiveness later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phone returned to his bag, Malcolm resumes his surveillance of Grant. He’s talking to three people, and his demeanour is manic and jerky. It’s out of place for someone who should be concerned about sick friends. The group chats for a few more minutes before they break up and grab their gear, ready to head home. JT is still deep in conversation with Isaac and hasn’t noticed Grant making his way towards the door. Before he knows what’s happening his wobbly post workout legs are lunging towards the target, in what could be the least graceful trip across a room he’s ever made. He makes it just in time to meet Grant in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi there, Grant is it?” Malcolm flashes a thousand-watt smile for a second, but the shock on Grant’s face makes him dial it back a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s me. And you were…Malcolm, right? You’re the spook.” Grant answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. That’s me, spooky. Can’t sit on a chair to save my life.” Malcolm’s attempt at humour falls flat. He’s terrible at this. Lucky for him JT’s voice booms behind him to salvage the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heading off so soon, Hough?” JT asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, Tarmel. I gotta…thing to get to.” Grant jerks his thumb vaguely behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, have you got a second? We were hoping to ask you if you knew anything about how the guys were getting Jet Fuel.” JT manoeuvres himself between Grant and the doorway, blocking his exit. Grant’s eye’s blow wide again at the mention of the illicit drug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jet Fuel? No, no way, I’ve got nothing to do with that.” Grant replies, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly and desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure, Grant?” Malcolm asks. “Because right now your body is telling me that you do know something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no reply from the jumpy man in front of him, and Malcolm can see the ‘flight’ side of his brain winning out over the ‘fight’ response. The man bends his knees as he prepares to sprint away, ignoring the fact that a huge former infantry officer stands in his way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“JT!” Malcolm shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needn’t have worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT pivots to fill the entire doorway with ease, and all Grant’s efforts are rewarded with running slap bang into a thick, muscular, unmoving wall. The guy goes down with a thud, and while he sits on his ass dazed and confused Malcolm leans over him and says, “I think it might be time for that talk.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Ain't It Fun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Thursday 20th August (continued) VA Clinic</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT guides Grant to a chair and positions him to face Malcolm and himself, each of them level with one of Grant’s shoulders. JT starts off with trying to calm the skittish man in front of them, and when he’s succeeded somewhat Malcolm dives right in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Grant, I’m pretty sure you’re dealing Jet Fuel within this support group, do you have anything to say about that?” Malcolm asks bluntly. All of JT’s hard work is undone in a second; Grant’s eyes bug out at the mention of the street drug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, man, aren’t you supposed to warm up to the hard questions, or something?” JT mumbles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. I usually just go with my gut.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well your gut was way off man, look at him. Grant. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grant</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s okay, you can talk to me.” JT reassures him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words aren’t registering. Grant is bouncing so much it looks like he’s about to vibrate off the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grant, I’m gonna need you to take a breath, alright? Can you do that for me?” JT speaks slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. It’s too late, I already hurt people. They’ll kill me if I say anything!” Grant whines.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s never too late to help, Grant.” Malcolm assures him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I can’t, I can’t, just, I CAN’T!” Grant launches himself through the hole between JT and Malcolm from the chair he was sitting on and makes a play for the open door. Malcolm turns and tries to follow, only to find the signals from his brain aren’t reaching his legs. They’ve seized up from the training session. Malcolm winces with every movement and watches as JT sprints after Grant. A day job of multiple training sessions a week has JT in better shape for this right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I GOT THIS!” JT shouts over his shoulder as he follows his friend in crisis out the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm hobbles slowly towards the hallway to find out what’s happening. When he makes it to the door he sees JT and Grant making their way back into the clinic, Grant’s eyes red and watery from the swirl of emotions churning inside of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay, Grant. I’ll do as much as I can, I promise.” JT murmurs. It seems to calm their likely suspect down, and the trio relocate to the front office space. Ten minutes later and Grant has admitted his role in supplying the Jet Fuel, and has agreed to talk to Gil and Dani at the precinct. Most importantly, he’s agreed to get help for his addiction through the VA.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Grant is more subdued JT looks to Malcolm expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Quantico, what now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm thinks over the options in his head. He doesn’t have transport of his own to transfer Grant to the precinct for an interview. They’re too far away to walk. Flagging down a random police cruiser could be more trouble than it’s worth, especially if Grant acts out again. There’s only one option he can think of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have an idea.” Malcolm pulls out his phone and calls the precinct’s reception number. A quick request through the officer manning the desk has him transferred to another phone line, and the recipient picks up on the second ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Powell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective! It’s Bright, how’s the research going?” Malcolm smiles through the call.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bright? Why are you calling me? Didn’t you just talk to Gil like, five minutes ago?” Dani whispers angrily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah… yes, I did.” Malcolm answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And he told you to leave the case alone, right?” Dani prompts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He told me not to question anybody.” Malcolm corrects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re skirting around the question, Bright, answer me. Did you talk to this potential suspect?” Dani’s annoyance is starting to seep into her voice. Malcolm hesitates for a moment before answering.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only a little,” Malcolm admits. “He’s the dealer for the support group, and he’s willing to talk about his supplier. He wants to come in and make a statement.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani sighs. “Do you have any idea how pissed Gil is going to be with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nervous laugh escapes Malcolm’s lips and JT looks at him in concern. “I’ve a fair idea. He’ll get over it when he hears what Grant has to say. I just need to get him to the precinct.” Malcolm nods at JT to reassure him that this is all part of the plan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s silence on the line for a beat. Then a reply that comes out closer to a hiss. “Is this what you called me for? To be an accomplice in your plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t trust him to just any officer, it needs to be someone familiar with the case. Can you come down to the VA clinic with a car? Please, Dani, I want you to close this case more than anything.” Malcolm pleads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are a real piece of work.” Dani sighs. “I’ll be there in twenty. But you can explain to Gil why we have to find time to interview a dealer this afternoon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I can do that. See you soon.” Malcolm agrees. He doesn’t think he can do that. But Dani being in the know should give him enough cover to blunt a lot of the words Gil will no doubt have for him. Malcolm pockets his phone and smiles triumphantly at JT.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One NYPD transport is on the way!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. Are you gonna be okay when you get there, man? Detective Powell didn’t seem pleased.” JT asks dubiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dani? Oh, she’ll be fine. Once they realise what we’ve managed to find out today they’ll get over this pretty quickly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT turns his attention to their quasi citizen-arrested dealer. His shakes are getting worse and his eyes appear distant and glazed over. He’s dissociated somewhere while Malcolm was on the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, can you go and find me some water? Grant is gonna need it in a second.” JT asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Water. On it.” Malcolm scans the room for a bottle and eventually locates some on one of the tables against the wall. Walking gingerly on his legs, he makes slow progress there and back, and on the way back is able to watch JT coax Grant out of an episode and back to the present. Suddenly Malcolm feels as if he is intruding on something private and personal, and knows that Grant won’t want an audience to witness this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll just…wait outside for Dani. Yell if you need anything.” Malcolm jerks his thumb over his shoulder for effect, and JT responds with a small nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a large tree providing some rare shade in the front of the clinic, and Malcolm eases himself onto the grass beneath the canopy and practices his breathing exercises. The thrill of discovering a new lead has worn off, leaving him with the good ache of muscles well stretched and challenged. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt all week. There might be something in this type of therapy after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT and Grant join him out the front and they wait for Dani together. Grant seems calmer in the shade of the tree, the gentle rustling of the leaves appearing to soothe his hyperactive mind. The trio sit in silence until Dani walks around the corner, keys swinging around a finger. Malcolm stands to greet the stony-faced detective.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for coming, Dani.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t thank me for anything, you still have to talk to Gil when we get back. There is no way I’m taking that bullet for you.” Dani warns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Noted, thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani turns her attention to their dealer. “Hey, Grant, you wanna take a walk with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grant bobs his head up and down, repeating “I’m so sorry” over and over again. The group moves towards Dani’s waiting sedan, Malcolm walking decidedly slower than the others. Dani notices him falling behind and calls out to him,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something wrong, Bright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT scoffs. “Yeah, his scrawny FBI ass got whooped by the Army. How are those legs feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm waddles as the lactic acid continues to build in his thighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re great, thanks for asking.” Malcolm grimaces. Dani lets rip a full-throated laugh as she opens the car doors. JT walks back to Malcolm as Grant is ushered into the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, if you found the session helpful today you’re always welcome back.” JT offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, but I’m only in town until Sunday before I head back to D.C.” Malcolm replies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh, that’s a shame. I kind of liked our little investigation today. I haven’t felt that kind of excitement since...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since Afghanistan?” Malcolm finishes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” JT admits. “But it wasn’t completely the same. I wasn’t worried about getting injured or anything, and I know that my guys are gonna be a little bit safer if Grant is getting the help he needs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you enjoyed today so much maybe you’ve found something you could do for a career.” Malcolm suggests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT looks surprised. “Me? A detective? I hadn’t thought of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It couldn’t hurt to ask. Speaking of things you enjoyed today. If you enjoyed my company and wanted to grab a cup of coffee before I head back, or take a look at the pool in my loft, I’d be interested.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You have a pool. In your loft? How does a pool even exist in a loft?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come by my place and I’ll show you. I have a strict no trunks rule.” Malcolm waggles his eyebrows and JT laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for the offer, but I’m more of a land lover than a sea farer. It’s why I joined the Army and not the Navy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a shame, it really is something to see. If you change your mind, here’s my number.” Malcolm fishes out a card from his gym bag and hands it to JT. He pockets the card with a shake of his head and a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bright! Don’t make me wait any longer, I gotta get popcorn on the way before the show starts!” Dani yells from the driver’s seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What show?” Malcolm shouts back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The “Bright makes Gil finally lose it” show, come on!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s my cue. Thanks for today, JT, I really enjoyed it.” Malcolm bows slightly as he walks backwards towards the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh it was definitely a thing. And you’re welcome. Good luck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Thursday Afternoon- 16th</b>
  <b> Precinct- Gil’s Office</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me, Bright. Is there </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> sandwiched between those two ears of yours, or is it as vacant as a grocery store shelf before a hurricane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil’s face is tense and his breathing is laboured as he paces the floor of his office. Malcolm hasn’t seen him this angry in a long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can explain Gil. The guy was about to leave-“ Malcolm starts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t CARE if he was about to leave, I gave you an instruction not to talk to anyone!” Gil’s almost shouting now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but he was right there!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even if it had been Michael Jordan in that room, there is </span>
  <b>no way</b>
  <span> I would have authorised you to engage! Did you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the possibility that you could have jeopardised the investigation? That Grant wouldn’t want to talk to us, and instead would run to warn his boss? </span>
  <em>
    <span>God,</span>
  </em>
  <span> kid. You must have missed some classes at Quantico.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barb stung a little, and there was a kernel of truth to it. In all the excitement of getting to know JT and push his profiling skills, Malcolm lost sight of the stakes in the investigation. Removed from the clinic, he can see that his actions may have tended towards the reckless side of things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Malcolm apologises. “I just wanted to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You already had by giving us a lead, you should trust that we’ll be able to see it through. It’s our job.” Gil places a hand on his temple, warding off the signs of a headache. Bright has been the cause of a few this week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fair,” Malcolm concedes. There’s nothing he had seen this week to suggest otherwise. “I promise I’ll listen next time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re done on this case Bright.” Gil orders.  “You’ve ignored my instructions twice in three days, and I can’t afford to have one eye on the case and the other on you to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t ignored all of them, I did manage to find a t-shirt at Gucci yesterday.” Malcolm jokes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil’s expression could curdle milk. “Kid, I am not in the mood. You can debrief Saltos about what you saw this afternoon, then I want you out of my department. For your own sake, please listen to me this time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm considers launching another salvo to try and save his involvement in the case, but he’s seen this kind of resolution from Gil before. There’d be no changing his mind today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Gil. I really am sorry about getting excited earlier today, I didn’t mean to jeopardize the case or have my actions reflect poorly on you. I won’t interfere again.” Malcolm goes to let himself out of the office before pausing midway through opening the door. “Is it okay if I call you tomorrow to try and schedule a dinner with you and Jackie before I go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smallest amount of tension drops from Gil’s shoulders at the mention of his wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure Bright, that’ll be fine. Now go see Saltos so we can get back to the case.” Gil nods in the direction of Salto’s desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes sir, ‘til tomorrow then.” Malcolm replies, letting himself out of the office and back into the main desk area. The smiling figure of Dani relaxing at her desk greets him cheerfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gotta say, it’s entertaining to see Gil tear somebody apart every once in a while. You sure know how to push his buttons.” Dani teases.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm shrugs his shoulders and deadpans, “I’ve been pushing them for fifteen years, it’s like second nature to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know that was a stupid move you pulled today, right?” Dani asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm nods once. “I know. I just got excited in the thrill of the chase. You know what it’s like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani shakes her head. “No, not really. I’ve always worked in a team. I’m guessing the FBI doesn’t quite work the same way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmm, not always.” Malcolm admits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani cocks her head to the side before stating, “It’s a bit weird seeing this side of you after the last two days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, apologetic?” Malcolm guesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you dressed in shorts! And a shirt without buttons! I didn’t think it was possible.” Dani jokes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, yes. As you would be aware, a vest is a tad restrictive for a dumbbell rotation.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I think the best outfit you’ve worn all week was the one in your pool.” Dani smirks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm allows himself a deprecating smile, “While I appreciate the compliment, I don’t think the people on the street outside the clinic would have appreciated that particular view when we were jogging today. This was the next best thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“BRIGHT! I CAN SEE YOUR SKINNY ASS THROUGH MY WINDOW! GO FIND SALTOS!” Gil’s voice still manages to boom through a closed door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm sighs. “It appears I’m being moved on. Be gentle with Grant today, he may have done a bad thing but he’s not your typical junkie. He just needs some help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t they all?” Dani replies with a sigh of her own. “We’ll look after him Bright, I promise. Now get out of here before Gil pops a blood vessel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am.” Malcolm tips a mock salute in Dani’s direction and goes to find Saltos.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Thursday Evening- 6pm- The Milton/Whitly Household</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom, I’m here!” Malcolm shouts as soon as the front door opens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re late!” his mother shouts from the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I’m sorry. I was helping Gil with a thing.” It was a convenient lie, but the truth was Malcolm was so exhausted from his morning at the VA clinic that hell had frozen over and he had passed out cold on his bed. Three hours passed in the blink of an eye, and any chance of meeting his mother on time evaporated with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm gingerly walks across the foyer to find his mother standing by the fireplace using the mantle to prop herself up. Her back is facing Malcolm, and when she hears his footsteps in the room, she turns to greet him. With any luck the fact he’s so late will mean the two of them can avoid bringing up the fight from Monday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I warned you not to be late, we barely have time for you to get fitted for the tux- </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you wearing?!”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yep, we’re pretending it never happened </span>
  </em>
  <span>Malcolm thinks to himself. That’s fine by him. He digs his hands into his pockets and strikes a runway pose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, I meant to call and tell you. I found an outfit by myself, no need to waste time on the tailor.” It was a happy coincidence that he had managed to find himself a suit, Malcolm isn’t sure if he would have survived his mother watching him struggle into a tux jacket with his aching muscles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica fixes him a dour look. “While I would normally applaud your daring to venture out into the fashion world, you should have called me! I would have told you that frangipanis aren’t the sort of flower you wear to a charity auction, there will be photographers!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And tell me Mother, what kind of flower </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be appropriate for a charity auction?” Malcolm asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know, just not……that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I happen to like it.” Malcolm checks his watch for effect. “And we’re out of time for alterations to anything else, so I’m wearing it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Jessica huffs before making her way back to the staircase. “Fine. Give me five minutes to change. There’s already enough people who will be talking behind our backs tonight, I won’t give them the fodder of a poorly coordinated outfit to gossip about for free.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm sighs and calls out after her ascending figure. “I’m pretty sure the invite didn’t say they would be enforcing a coordinated dress code. Besides, nobody will be taking our picture, Mother. We’re related to a serial-killer, we’ll be lucky if anyone stands within ten feet of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was why he hated going to these types of events. He hates watching his mother get rejected by her one-time friends because of something her husband did. His mother may be many things, but she doesn’t deserve the pariah status she still holds fifteen years after his father’s arrest. Five minutes goes by before Jessica returns in a navy dress with a peplum waist, pencil skirt hem and a scoop neckline, her hair twisted into an elegant chignon and highlighted with a sapphire pin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Let’s go, darling. You can tell me all about why you were late on the way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Javits Centre- 7pm</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I still don’t think you should be gallivanting around with the NYPD on your vacation, my dear. Oh look, press!” Jessica flashes a smile and holds the back of Malcolm’s jacket to stop him on the red carpet for pictures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Smile, dear” is the instruction barked through bared teeth, but when Malcolm looks out to the bank of photographers he finds no cameras pointed in their direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmph.” Jessica grumbles, pushing Malcolm’s back gently to continue their way into the event. Needing to focus her disappointment on something, she hones in on the only target available; her son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I going to do with you, you’re waddling around as if you’ve been sitting on a horse all day. Or do you just walk like this at social events to avoid people? People are going to wonder.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm starts to defend his choice of vacation activities as they enter the wide doors of the Javits Centre. “Mother, today we stopped a dangerous drug from getting into the hands of returned service veterans. That’s pretty good for a Thursday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I suppose. But you really need to learn how to relax. Maybe it’s time to head back to dancing? You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> graceful on the stage, dear.” Jessica sounds almost wistful at the memory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Not happening, mother. Can we please drop this?” Malcolm pleads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. Let’s look for some canapes, I’m starving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mount Sinai's Crystal Ball was one of the highlights of the social calendar, known for its penchant of illuminating venues and exquisite art curation. This year, the hospital had outdone themselves with the venue, choosing a building that was a tribute to the theme itself. The glass walls meant there was nowhere for Malcolm to hide as New York's philanthropic elite rubbed shoulders and gossiped with abandon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica wandered through the crowd, looking for a group to join. She wasn't having much success, luckily the auction pieces scattered throughout the space provided enough cover for their exclusion to be less obvious. Malcolm did notice that while people were happy to stare at them behind raised hands, they were less inclined to get to know them. It seemed notoriety based on rumours was more valuable than facts. Malcolm endures ninety minutes of awkward introductions and brush offs before he decides he's had his fill of the local social scene. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, it appears the New York socialites have seen enough of us for one night Mom, I think it's time to go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica grabs his arm to stop his departure. "We can't leave yet, Malcolm. There's a few more people I want to talk to."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So they can ignore you? It's obvious they don't want us here. I can't for the life of me understand why you are putting yourself through this." Malcolm scoffs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> may not remember a life before your father's arrest, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> do. I knew most of these people long before I met your father. I belong here. It’s been fifteen years, and I believe I've done my penance for my terrible choice in men." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm raises his eyebrows. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>That's</span>
  </em>
  <span> the biggest issue here, your choice in a husband?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica rolls her eyes and concedes "There may have been some other factors, but that's definitely one of them." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm prepares to argue with his mother when an unfamiliar voice calls out her name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jessica!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother turns to the voice with a warm smile, her voice low and husky.  "Nicholas, what a wonderful surprise!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicholas Endicott, billionaire and business tycoon walks toward the pair with a friend in tow. He leans in to kiss Jessica on the cheek, her first for the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It’s always a pleasure to see you, Jess. I don't think I've seen you here the last few years?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica laughs coquettishly as she replies, "Oh well, Nicholas, I hadn't really had much of an interest in coming in recent years, but when I heard they'd rented out this stunning venue I knew I had to come." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm waits for his mother's nose to grow under the weight of the lie she'd just told. He must have made a noise because Jessica’s gaze turns sharp in warning before her smile reappears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nicholas, may I introduce my son, Malcolm. He’s home for some vacation time and agreed to be my plus one this evening.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your son? Jess, I didn’t realise you had such a handsome young man for a son! Is this your first charity gala?” Nicholas asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s my first, and with any luck it will be my last, Mr. Endicott.” Malcolm replies. Nicholas appreciates the joke and enjoys an open laugh with his companion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a shame, you seem to be doing just fine. And what do you do for a job, Malcolm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Malcolm can reply Jessica butts in on his behalf. “He’s into research. Books and such. Very dry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Endicott’s companion smiles at the description. “Research hey, a man after my own heart!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicholas swings his arm around to the man on his left, a stocky man in his early sixties and a look of interest directed at Jessica. “Could I complete the formalities by introducing a long-time friend and competitor Julian Trellis.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pleased to meet you both.” Julian nods in their direction, the most civil display they’ve seen towards them all evening after Endicott’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica, Nicholas, and Julian exchange small talk, with Malcolm observing the little dance playing out in front of him with amusement. Both men were interested in his mother, that much he was certain. His mother relished the attention, little touches and light laughs peppering the conversation as they talked about the art for sale. Endicott and Trellis also appear to be genuine friends, despite Endicott introducing Trellis as a competitor. Malcolm’s interest piques when Nicholas mentions his competition with Julian for the second time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be careful Julian, or else I’ll find someone to borrow that new drug of yours…” Nicholas warns jovially. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“New drug...excuse me, Julian, what exactly is your line of work?” Malcolm asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m the Vice President of Research at Thalte Pharmaceuticals.” Trellis answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thalte Pharmaceuticals. The company Gil’s Jet Fuel cook worked for. This auction may not have been the waste of time he was thinking it would be. Gil may not want to chase down the company lead, but that shouldn’t stop Malcolm from asking a few questions when a relevant witness drops into his lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Research at a pharmaceutical company, that must be interesting work. How close are you to curing cancer?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian laughs at the suggestion “That is the ultimate white whale, Malcolm. We’ll work at it, but until then we’ll aim for something a bit closer to improve people’s quality of life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicholas claps Julian on the back, “You sound every inch the company man, Jules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm interjects, “What are your thoughts on the new street drug out there, I think they call it Jet Fuel?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm watches both men at the mention of the deadly drug for a reaction. Nicholas remains relaxed and speaks of the havoc the drug is wreaking through the medical system, whereas a small flush blooms on Julian’s cheeks and his jaw clenches the second the words are out of Malcolm’s mouth. Julian stumbles for a moment before managing to reply to Malcolm’s question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, I don’t know much about the drug, obviously.” he stammers</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who among us does? Dreadful stuff, if the news is to be believed.” Jessica intones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm pushes forward. “Are either of your companies doing any research into the drug?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both men answer in the negative, yet Julian’s body language and eye movement tells Malcolm that his answer is a lie. Julian catches Malcolm’s studied gaze and his eyes widen further. Gone is the calm and collected philanthropic executive, in his place now stands a nervous suspect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s seen it before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica continues her small talk with Nicholas for another minute as Julian gets paler by the second. Malcolm sits back and watches his facade crumble the longer the quartet are standing together, and it becomes all too much for the lanky executive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nick, I think it’s time I head home.” He interrupts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Already? I thought we were going to try and break our spending records from last year.” Nicholas jokes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I just feel a little under the weather right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’ll have to resume our little friendly competition next year.” Before Endicott can complete the goodbyes a thick Bronx accent cuts through the chatter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mister Endicott! The Foundation would love a photo of you for our benefactor update, can you smile please?”.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Endicott chuckles to himself before muttering to the group, “You happen to have the highest bid at one of these things and then suddenly you’re as popular as Matthew McConaughey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The photographer takes a quick photo of the quartet before they exchange farewells. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Endicott walks away to see Trellis off Malcolm receives a gentle elbow in the ribs by his beaming mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, Malcolm, I told you we needed to coordinate our outfits for the cameras. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> we were talking to Endicott and Trellis long enough that people were bound to notice. Not bad for my first event of the season!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations, mom, I’m sure that five-minute conversation changed everyone’s minds. Have you filled your quota for socialite fodder tonight? Can we go now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jessica smiles contentedly for a moment. “Yes, I think we can darling. A private conversation </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>a picture with the richest man in the room? That will be enough for tonight. Let’s go home and have a nightcap.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the beginning of the night this diversion had seemed entirely pointless. A chance introduction had turned that assumption on his head, and Malcolm couldn’t wait to call Gil tomorrow with a new lead to chase down.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dark Horse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Friday Morning August 21st- Malcolm’s Loft</b>
</p><p>
  <span>As Malcolm waits for Gil to pick up his cell, he starts pacing from one end of his loft to the other. He had barely slept due to night terrors and overthinking the current situation. After hours of tossing and turning he decided that showing up at the precinct in person may not be the best move given how mad Gil was yesterday. Gil had agreed to take his phone call today, he’d just need to tweak the agenda slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gil picks up, Malcolm doesn’t even give him the chance to say hello before diving in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gil, hey, it’s me. I wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid. You manage to stay out of trouble at your party last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, what kind of trouble do you mean?” Gil wouldn’t have had Malcolm tailed, would he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just mean that you weren’t exactly in your natural habitat last night. Tuxedos and truffle canapes were never really your thing.” Gil chortles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Believe it or not my mother had a lovely time, and I didn’t have to throw a pipe at anyone. She got her picture taken and everything.” Malcolm huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so there’s photographic evidence somewhere? I’ll get Dani right on that.” Gil can barely hold back his laughter now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s really no need for that, Gil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After your stunt yesterday you bet there is. Jackie will love it too, seeing her boy all grown up. She’s looking forward to dinner tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, before we start on that can I just tell you one quick thing about last night?” Malcolm winces as his quads twinge from a too sudden twist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of thing?” Gil sounds instantly suspicious. “I thought you stayed out of trouble.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, Gil, I promise. It’s just that I met someone who I think you should talk to. He’s the VP of research at Thalte Pharmaceuticals. I think he’s connected to the Jet Fuel manufacturing ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright, I told you to let this go.” Gil warns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you did, but this guy literally fell into my lap. Mother and I were introduced to the man by a friend of hers, and when we were talking about Jet Fuel his stress reactions went through the roof. I think he’s in on it.” Malcolm reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what would you have me do based off of this hunch, exactly? You know I need evidence for a warrant, and right now I don’t even know the guy’s name.” Gil’s getting impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name is Julian Trellis, and I promise you he will be involved. Can you start looking into his background, see if anything is there?” Malcolm asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence yawns between the two men. Malcolm waits, not wanting to push too hard. He hears a sigh before Gil answers, “We can take a look at the guy. But you need to leave this to narcotics, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, absolutely. I wouldn’t dream of stepping on your toes.” Malcolm assures Gil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re feeling pretty banged up right now, you’ve taken a good crack at ‘em this week.” Gil reminds him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I’ll try not to do it again. I’ll text you what I found out yesterday, and can you keep me posted?” Malcolm pleads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll keep you posted once you’re back in D.C. You know these things take time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you tell me tomorrow at 7pm when I come round for dinner?” Malcolm tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No deal, kid. Jackie’s on a late shift, so make it 7:30. It’ll be dinner and maybe a game, but definitely no shop talk.” Gil sounds firm in his decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm stops pushing. “You can’t blame me for trying. 7:30 it is, then. Thanks, Gil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you tomorrow, city boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the call ends Malcolm resumes his pacing, albeit at a slower pace than before as his tired muscles begin to protest. He knows Gil will do the right thing with looking into Trellis, but it might not be fast enough to catch this guy. Malcolm decides he can help Gil one more time by taking a look at Thalte Pharmaceuticals himself. He’s got time and his FBI skills behind him, what could go wrong?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Friday Afternoon- Lower Manhattan</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thalte Pharmaceuticals decided on cliché futuristic architecture for their building. White furniture with no corners to be seen stand out against glossy surfaces reflecting light everywhere. Malcolm curses at himself for losing his Saint Laurent sunglasses before his Jim Thorpe trip. Returning to his classic three-piece suit was the right move for his unsanctioned interview, he doesn’t draw any attention to himself as he walks across the pristine floor to the bank of elevators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A young woman in her early twenties walks up next to him with an excessively large stack of files that are teetering precariously and Malcolm sees his opportunity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is enough paper to have felled a forest! It looks like you could use a hand there… I’m sorry what’s your name?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The petite girl peeks out from behind her tower and her eyes go wide at the sight of Malcolm addressing her directly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…I…yes, I mean sure. Uh…Melanie. I’m Melanie.” The girl stammers, smiling coyly at the unexpected attention shining her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm flashes a toothy smile. “Okay, Melanie. How about I take half of these for you and we get you back to your desk right now.” He delicately grabs half of the folders and tucks them under his arm. “Won’t you do the honours?” as he points to the elevator panel, which requires a swipe card to activate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure.” Melanie presses the necessary buttons and soon they are arriving at Melanie’s seventh floor cubicle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much, Mr ah…..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm. You can call me Malcolm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Malcolm.” Melanie smiles again and twists her body from side to side a little, her eyes inviting him to do more than just help with some filing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say, I’m here for a meeting with Julian Trellis but I’ve just realised that reception forgot to tell me which floor to meet him on. Would you be able to help me find his office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melanie’s face brightens. “Oh, absolutely! He’s up on the 20</span>
  <span>th</span>
  <span> floor, just a few too many flights of stairs to take from here.” Melanie leads Malcolm back to the elevator, chirping away as she explains her life story to a man she barely knows. Malcolm makes all the right noises and asks a few questions as if he’s interested, in reality he just needs Melanie’s help to get access to Trellis. As the lift ascends to the eighteenth floor Malcolm cuts off her latest tale about her new pilates class to wrap up the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This has been great Melanie, but I’m almost here. How about I come back down to see you on my way out, maybe we can grab a coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words fail the short brunette for a moment before her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Yes! Yes, of course. I’ll be here all afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors open to a more open executive floor and Malcolm steps out quickly. “Great, I’ll see you soon. And thanks for all your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns as Melanie is still waving awkwardly as the doors close. He might go and see her when he’s done talking to Trellis, it will depend on how the next few minutes go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds a plaque with Trellis’ name on a spacious office with stunning river views. There’s no administration staff around so Malcolm takes his chance and strolls into the room, eyes scanning quickly to try and pick up clues to the persona of the man who inhabits this office. The décor is sparse and cold, there’s a single picture of Trellis with what looks to be two adult children hung on the wall behind his desk. The space is instead filled with file after file of drug trials, each with an obscure code name; Strawberry, Slipper and Salamander to name a few. He’s just about to start opening some when a voice calls out behind him,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Care to explain what you’re doing in my office?” Trellis is stationary in the doorway to his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julian! It’s Malcolm Br-Whitly, from the fundraiser last night. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d stop by. One fellow researcher to another.” His stomach flips at having to use his family name, it feels so foreign on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trellis looks dubious as he makes his way into the room. “You just happened to be in the neighbourhood on the top floor of a private building?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I happened to be visiting a friend on another floor.” Malcolm replies, not quite lying. He’s pretty sure he just made one on the seventh floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one?” Trellis asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not important. I was hoping to ask you some questions about your research while I’m in town.” Malcolm hopes the switch in topic is enough to stop Trellis from targeting Melanie. “Drugs are your game, hey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like to think of the work we’re doing for the greater good, but your statement is accurate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of drugs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little bit of this, a little bit of that. What is it that you want to know, Mr. Whitly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you show me some of your documentation? I’m curious to see the differences in standard scientific research versus FDA documentation requirements. I’ve heard they’re quite rigorous.” Malcolm asks. He’s hoping the time it takes to answer the question will buy a little time to plan his next move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trellis frowns before answering, “Well you would be aware that any pharmaceutical research is a closely guarded secret. We wouldn’t want our competitors getting their hands on what could be a game changing drug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of that, Julian. I wouldn’t even know what to take!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trellis seems satisfied with Malcolm’s answer. “I guess I can show you one of our more advanced projects. Take this trial here.” Trellis picks up the folder marked ‘Strawberry’. “We’re trying to improve Methoxyflurane which is a great analgesic, but can have some nasty liver and kidney side effects with prolonged use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm nods along, glancing at the tables and complicated chemical structures printed on the page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve managed to create an analogue that’s quite similar, and compress it into a compact inhaler.” Trellis pulls a small black tube out of his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds helpful, I guess. Is that the drug that Mr Endicott was talking about the other night?” Malcolm guesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Possibly, there’s a lot of things we’re working on. But that’s not the drug you want to talk about today, is it Mr. Bright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm stills at the use of his correct surname. “Ah, I don’t know what you mean, Julian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you do.” Julian closes the file and throws it back on to the table. “After your questions at the auction, Mr. Endicott went and did a little digging for me. You left quite a bit out on your resume, Agent Bright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s heart drops through the floor as he realises he’s been made. A quick calculation in his head and he decides the odds are in his favour that he can talk himself out of this. “I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just don’t like to get into my day job with strangers. There’s a lot of awkward questions.” Malcolm explains with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I’d say it’s a bit more than that. You asked about Jet Fuel, and I’m guessing that you already know about the company’s involvement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s hunch was right. “So, Perronito was helping with the manufacture of Jet Fuel for a cut of the profits?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trellis grins. “Ding ding ding, we have a winner! We found the compound by accident, but it’s clinical uses were very limited. And FDA approval is so time consuming, it seemed like the perfect time for a new revenue stream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s heart hammered in his chest as Trellis laid out the extent of Thalte’s involvement in the creation of Jet Fuel. An unprompted confession is almost unheard of, and yet Trellis doesn’t look worried. The man is calm and confident in his demeanour, and a voice in his head warns a little too late that a man who is detailing his involvement in a crime wouldn’t be so put together if he was ready to be arrested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t seem as nervous today as you were the other night.” Malcolm observes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was more the occasion than the conversation. I enjoy supporting the cause, not necessarily the events. You invited yourself into my domain though, and you should have checked out my reputation first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Malcolm thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I really should have. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You know, I think it might be a good idea if I call a friend right now, this wasn’t what I was expecting.” Malcolm starts to back out of the room towards the door, maintaining eye contact with Trellis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, you make that call.” Trellis replies, casually glancing at the binders on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm grabs his phone and glances down to pull Gil’s number up when suddenly he hears a hiss followed by a mist of spray hitting his face. He looks up coughing in surprise to see Trellis holding up the inhaler that he had shown Malcolm earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t take-“ Malcolm doesn’t finish the sentence as the drug hits his system. He doesn’t feel the effects of a pain med, this feels more like a sedative. A heaviness seeps into his legs and he finds himself kneeling on the floor. “That isn’t-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trellis scoffs at Malcolm’s confusion. “Did you think that I would actually tell you what was in here? Are you sure you work for the FBI?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ability to feel disappears from Malcolm’s arms, and soon he finds himself face down on the floor with a fog creeping in at the edge of his vision. A desperate attempt to move his body comes out as a tiny grunt. He’s powerless. There’s movement to his side as Trellis crouches down to admonish his visitor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsk tsk tsk, Agent Bright. You really should have left well enough alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**********</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Dani ever saw Bright again he was going to owe her for this. Two favours in a week for this guy that she barely knows, this time because Gil wants to check out his hunch. The reception desk had an attitude as frosty as the white table they were sitting behind, but a quick flash of her badge changed their tune. People underestimate her at their peril.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani had been shown to the elevator and told that someone would meet her on the twentieth floor, where the doors were now opening. A man about her age meets Dani at the entrance and leads her to Julian Trellis’s office, which is currently unoccupied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was told at reception that Mr Trellis was in his office, where is he?” Dani queries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, he was here the last time I walked past. That would have only been five minutes ago? He was talking with some guy I’ve never seen before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t have been that stupid. Surely. “What did this guy look like?” Dani asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My age, real smart suit. Nothing I could ever afford.” The assistant shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brown hair, average height? Can’t sit still?” Dani guesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess you’d say so.” The clues were coming together, and it wasn’t painting a pleasant picture. Dani started to toy with the idea of calling Gil when her ears pricked up to a conversation out in the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm said he would come back before he left, Belle. Did you see him?” A tiny brunette is asking a middle-aged woman in the entryway, her face anxious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor Trellis left a few minutes ago with a young man who wasn’t feeling well, one too many drinks with lunch apparently. They left in the executive elevator.” The woman answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he promised he would come back to see me.” The young woman looks crestfallen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warning bells are ringing in Dani’s ears. There are too many coincidences in what she’s just heard for the person who Trellis was meeting with to be anyone other than Bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” Dani calls out. “Was the young man conscious when Mr. Trellis was helping him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older woman smirks before answering, “Judging by the way Doctor Trellis was dragging him to the elevator, I’d say he was pretty out of it. Who gets that drunk this early in the day, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani hadn’t seen any indication from the last few days that Bright was a heavy drinker. Something about this wasn’t right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where does the executive elevator stop?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an express to the parking garage. You can’t use it though, it’s for executive’s only.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone and her badge. “I need someone to get me the details of Trellis’s car right now. And I want access to the parking garage cameras. It’s related to an ongoing investigation.” She doesn’t wait to see if the older woman is responding to her request, instead she’s pulled up Gil’s number on her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil starts, “Powell, how did-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani skips the preamble, “Bright came to talk to Trellis, I think something’s happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you say that?” Gil asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An employee saw Trellis drag Bright across the floor practically unconscious. Trellis wasn’t supposed to have left, I think Bright was right and this is connected to Perronito and Jet Fuel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any leads on where Trellis could have gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was last seen heading towards the parking garage, I’d guess they’re not in the building any more. I’ve asked for the garage CCTV footage.” Dani’s pacing as she talks, she needs to be in two places at once but needs to pick a direction. Luckily Gil makes the decision for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell them to send the footage to me, I’ll look at it from here. I’ll get a BOLO out on Trellis’s car, you get back to yours and wait for my word on whether we find anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, boss.” Dani ends the call and turns back to her male host, business card in hand. “Call this number and organise the CCTV footage to be sent to the NYPD. And someone let me back down to the street.” Instructions delivered to slack jawed faces, Dani strides over to the elevator doors and pushes the button to go down with gusto. It’s not making the elevator arrive any faster, but taking her frustration out on something feels good right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice behind her asks quietly, “What about my date? Do you think he’ll come back?” the brunette woman asks her friend quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani turns around as the doors open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetie, there are bigger problems than your love life right now. But if I can save him from this mess Bright might not be alive once I’m through with him.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Wake Me Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Friday 21st August (Continued)- Location Unknown</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm wasn't on the floor anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't entirely sure where he was, but through the fog in his mind he senses were telling him that he was slumped against something, and the thing was in motion. His body felt laden with lead, as if weight was pressing down on his entire body. A voice was talking nearby, but not to him directly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The kid needs to disappear. Call Brett and get him to meet me at the pier with a burner car. A nice one. This kid's gonna take it for a swim." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fragments of memories come back to him in a rush; Julian admitting to his role in creating Jet Fuel, the sudden drugging in his office. The promise of a car trip into the river wasn't a good sign. He needed to stop Julian before they got there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian continues his chat on the phone, not realising that Malcolm has woken up. This is his chance. Keeping his breathing slow and relaxed and his eyes shut Malcolm tests his reflexes in the arm opposite to the direction the voice is coming from. The finger he attempts to flick up barely moves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's trapped in his own body, just like one of his father’s victims. A nightmare that existed in his head for years has suddenly come to pass in a way he never could have imagined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having no other options available to him, all he can do is collect as much intel as he can until the drug wears off. As the gears in his mind whir back into life he's figured out from the motion he's feeling and the pressure across his chest that he's travelling in a car with a seat belt on. The direction of Julian’s voice puts him in the front passenger seat. If the feeling in his arms comes back he might be close enough to grab the steering wheel, possibly stop the car if he’s lucky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tenuous plan in place, all Malcolm can do now is wait for the pressure on his limbs to lift. He guesses that his increased tolerance to sedatives has shortened the effectiveness of whatever Julian gave him. The executive was confident enough in his drug that he didn't feel the need to tie Malcolm’s hands together. It appears Julian didn't do enough homework on him either. This lapse might just be enough to save his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The weight begins to lift as the car starts and stops its way through afternoon traffic, and with each finger stretch Malcolm does his hand is more responsive as the ride goes on. In the meantime all he can do is listen to Julian’s phone calls (including an awkward one to his girlfriend) and endure random monologuing at Malcolm's slack body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What kind of FBI agent snoops around someone's office without backup?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm is wondering the same thing right now. If he can get out of this mess Gil is going to kill him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ten more minutes, Whitly, then it's time to take a swim."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your mother will be so disappointed that your curiosity over Jet Fuel got the best of you. I do wonder what your trip will be like, I've heard those with traumatic pasts can have the most vivid nightmares." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, this guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn't do his homework if he thinks that the prospect of nightmares is something that would scare him. The mention of Jet Fuel does cause his heart to race though. If he gets injected with it there's a chance he could get lost in a hallucination, and with it any chance to get out of this mess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needs to make a move sooner rather than later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gathering all the strength he can muster Malcolm throws his sluggish body towards the driver's seat. One hand magically connects with the steering wheel and he grabs onto it like his life depends on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What the f-" Julian starts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm pulls down on the steering wheel before Julian can react. The car swerves violently off the road, and Malcolm feels the crunch of metal on metal reverberate through the chassis. Both men lurch forward as the inertia takes over, then there's a loud BANG as the airbags deploy. The bags hit both men in the face at full force, momentarily dazing the pair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian raises a hand to his head while he checks himself over for injuries, they appear to be minimal. Staring at Bright in his lap he wonders aloud, "How are you awake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm doesn’t answer and he battles the throbbing pain radiating in his head. Instead he puts all the energy he has to force his body to get moving. It won’t comply. He stays slumped awkwardly over the gear stick, head resting awkwardly on Julian’s thigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you do that, asshole?" Julian moans. “I’ve only had this car three months. You just made the rest of your short life so much worse.” he promises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm tries to call out, but his larynx is still too relaxed from the sedative to do so. Instead of a cry, or even a retort, all he can manage is a low-pitched huff. Julian starts wriggling, trying to move his uncooperative captive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get off me!” Julian cries, shoving Malcolm back into an upright position. His head lolls on his chest, the regained strength he has isn’t quite enough to hold it up yet. Falling over is much easier. Malcolm risks a glance upwards at his captor, the man’s face was one of confusion-his carefully crafted plan disintegrated before his very eyes. There was no back up plan. Not yet anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian pushes Malcolm back into his seat and swats him on the head in retaliation, and the throbbing pain reverberates around his skull returns with a vengeance. While Malcolm is focused on his breathing and not vomiting, Julian searches for his phone in the footwell of the car. Before he finds it there’s a sudden movement immediately outside the driver’s side window, and the crumpled door is yanked open with surprising force.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“NYPD! Hands on the steering wheel!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm squints through his headache and sees Detective Powell pointing her service weapon at Julian, her face fierce with a fury that was as terrifying as it was beautiful. His chest rises and falls quickly in relief, but his attempts to talk fail again. Instead he is resigned to attempt telepathy while Dani takes in the scene before her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian doesn’t acquiesce immediately, so she shouts again, oblivious to the small crowd now gathering around the wrecked car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said, hands on the steering wheel! Don’t make me ask again!” Dani shouts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Police? Oh thank God, my car’s steering malfunctioned and my friend and I crashed!” Julian cries, not seeming concerned in the slightest at the gun pointed in his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t move, Trellis.” Dani orders, and the shock stills Julian for a moment. She bends down slightly to get a clear line of sight to read Malcolm’s face. “Bright, you okay?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm can only stare at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you do to him? Stay right there.” Dani reaches for her radio and calls for a bus. Meanwhile, Julian watches the interaction from the driver’s seat and Malcolm can see the moment that he realises he’s caught.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You…know each other?” he asks Malcolm, who can only huff and gurgle in reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian’s eyes flash backwards and forwards in frantic thought, panic now outweighing everything else. The next moment he’s reaching under the car seat and pulling out a handgun which he concealed on his right side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm moans in warning, but with the commotion outside the car Dani can’t hear him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julian starts to twist his body so his legs are on the ground. “Look officer, this has all been a misunderstanding. I was just helping your friend home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me why can’t he move.” Dani demands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was the accident. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Julian plants his feet on the floor before standing up quickly. In a flash he’s on his feet and pointing a gun at Dani. “Could I have your car keys please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the first time Dani’s had a gun pointed at her. Her days working in narcotics had exposed her to many a panicked dealer brandishing a gun as a cure all for their fear. This guy was scared. He was also a novice at holding a gun. A quick tilt of her head confirmed the safety was still on. She could work with that. She just needed to buy a few more minutes for backup to arrive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone, get back!” Dani shouts. The impromptu crowd is more than happy to oblige her, and the ring of witnesses radiates back towards the pavement. Satisfied there are no longer any bystanders in danger Dani engages with the desperate man once again. “You know I can’t give you my car keys, and backup is on the way. Put the gun down, and we’ll get you looked at, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need to stick around, Miss. I need your keys, now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Detective.” Dani grimaces. “And no, that’s not going to happen!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll give me the keys, or I’ll shoot your friend.” Trellis threatens, spinning around so the gun is now pointed at Malcolm. Malcolm’s eyes widen in fear, but it’s the only movement he makes to acknowledge the changing situation.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With Julian’s attention on the profiler Dani makes her move. She closes the few feet between them and aims her boot squarely at the arm holding the gun. Dani’s foot connects with his wrist, and the gun drops to the floor with an agonised cry from Trellis. As the injured man sinks to his knees Dani grabs her cuffs from her belt and grabs his uninjured hand. The shock dulls his reaction time and she swiftly catches his likely broken wrist, snapping the cuffs together. In a case of perfect timing, the sound of sirens can be heard in the background, the blaring horns escalating in volume with every passing second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit tight, Trellis.” Dani orders, as she skirts around the injured offender to check on Bright. His head tilted towards her, and he’s made progress with one of his arms. The look on his face is hard to decipher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was this the hero move you had in mind?” she smirks. Malcolm pulls a dour expression, then manages to garble a single word through his throat,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> His eyes close for a moment, and Dani worries he’s losing consciousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bright, can you hear me? You good?” She leans over and shakes his arm. Malcolm’s eyes fly open again. His head drops in the smallest of nods, and he replies,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you move?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tiniest of head shakes confirms Dani’s suspicions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does anything hurt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-ead.” Malcolm’s eyes resembled those of a sad puppy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Paramedics are almost here, I’ll try and find out what Trellis has given you. And if Gil gets here in time, he might have some choice words for you; while he has your complete and undivided attention.” A smirk plays on the edge of Dani’s lips. Malcolm huffs at the jab.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All at once sirens that had been growing in volume reach their crescendo and an ambulance screeches around the corner, closely followed by a patrol car and the thunder of Gil’s Le Mans. They pull up behind the crumpled car and people spill out of the vehicles towards the unusual tableau that awaits them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani raises one hand and points the other at Trellis, while yelling, “Suspect is in custody, Bright is injured in the car. He can’t move.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The paramedics scurry over to Malcolm’s side of the car and start to assess his condition. Dani turns her attention back to Trellis and asks, “What did you give Bright?” Her tone was telling him she wasn’t messing around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think you’re so smart, you figure it out.” Trellis challenges. Dani hauls the man to his feet and searches his pockets, quickly locating the black inhaler. Leaving Trellis with a uni to read him his rights, she walks over to the paramedics who were extracting Malcolm from the car to check her hunch. Once the profiler is on the stretcher, she holds the inhaler in his eye line and asks if he recognises the object. Malcolm nods in the affirmative, and after placing it in an evidence bag hands it over to the medics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is what he was dosed with. Do you need it at the hospital?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man shakes his head and hands the inhaler back. “Based on our exam it’s some sort of paralytic agent. Considering he’s got some movement back we’ll probably just have to wait until the effects wear off. This inhaler isn’t an over the counter medication so we’re going to struggle to identify it any time soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll work on getting the information from our suspect.” Dani brushes her hand down Malcolm’s arm, squeezing his hand gently for support. She’s surprised when his fingers curl briefly around her own before they go limp once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bright! Kid!” Gil shouts from behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s eyes search for Gil, and he can move his head just enough to meet Dani’s boss as he runs up beside the gurney. Gil cups his hand around Malcolm’s bloody cheek, concern etched all over his face. The profiler leans in to Gil’s touch, sighing softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he okay?” Gil asks the medics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Other than the effects of the paralytic agent, Mr. Bright appears to have been very lucky. There’s no obvious broken bones, but we’ll do a full work up at the hospital.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The relief is evident on Gil’s face. “I’ll see you soon, okay, kid? Don’t ever do this again though. How do you manage to stay in one piece working for the FBI?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm manages a small smile as the gurney’s wheels are unlocked and he’s wheeled towards the waiting ambulance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil joins Dani next to the smashed SUV and surveys the scene.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you imagine working with that kind of crazy every day?” Dani wonders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” Gil admits. “Now, how about we close out this case for good?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Story of My Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Sunday Morning August 23rd- Bravo Beans Café</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm can see JT’s broad shoulders and back resting on the padded bamboo seat before he arrives at the café. The invitation had surprisingly come earlier that morning, as Malcolm was collecting his things together before his trip back home to D.C. Before he can make his way over, a buzzing in his pocket arrests his rhythm, the message he was expecting awaited him;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>  Mother- 10:59am</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>  “Why am I the only Whitly in this hospital, Malcolm? Where are you?!”</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s a conversation he can have later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pocketing the phone, Malcolm self-consciously checks how obvious the cuts and bruises on his face are in the shop window. Nothing short of a hoodie would be able to obscure them right now, so any attempt at a new hairstyle is fruitless. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself. Malcolm steps forward and closes the distance between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I didn’t strike you as the coffee crowd type.”  Malcolm calls, and JT’s head spins to locate the trajectory of the familiar voice. His eyes lock on with Malcolm’s and he grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One thing about serving in the military is it makes you appreciate the finer things in life. And let me tell you, a good iced coffee is one of those things. Kelly over there knows just how I like it.” JT points to a bubbly barista who is chatting away as she works her magic on the coffee machine in front of her. “What happened to you?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This? Oh, it’s nothing. I was in a car accident, my head copped the brunt of it. I’m only moderately scathed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You attract trouble like a magnet, don’t you, Quantico?” JT jokes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not all bad, I can attract good trouble, too.” Malcolm shrugs. “I’m grabbing a coffee, you want anything?” JT shakes his head, and Malcolm goes in to place an order for a long black with Kelly before joining JT on the bench again. Their bodies almost touching as they share the small space. “I have to admit I wasn’t expecting a call from you this morning. You gave me the impression that you weren’t really interested in seeing me again.” Malcolm offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t quite say that. There is no doubt that you are one very good looking guy, and if it were a different time in my life, my answer might have been what you were hoping for. But I’m not at a stage where I’m ready to share it with anybody. Even just for a night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s shoulders droop at the news. “While I can’t say I’m not disappointed, I can sympathise with wanting to look after yourself first. So, if you weren’t calling for a Sunday morning hook up, why did you call me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to tell you two things, and ask you a question. Do you mind if I ask you my question first?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s heart picks up a little at the request. Had JT learned who his father was in the last few days? The constant worry in the back of his mind resurfaced for a moment, and JT was savvy enough to notice the anxiety shift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you worried about? My question?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little, if I’m honest.” Malcolm answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think I’m about to ask you?” JT squints.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The arrival of Malcolm’s coffee breaks the awkward line of questioning for the moment, and Malcolm takes a moment to inhale the steadying aromas of the arabica beans in his cup before looking up at JT once more. “Okay, I’m ready. What do you want to know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were at the session on Thursday, listening to people in the group talk about their struggles. Why didn’t you want to talk about yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The breath that Malcolm was unconsciously holding whooshed out of him all at once. He wouldn’t have to explain his family’s deepest shame today. “I guess after fifteen years of hiding what happened to me, it’s just become second nature to avoid it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure that’s the healthiest thing for you? I’ve noticed your tremor, it seems to be something you’re dealing with everyday.” JT reaches out and places his hand over Malcolm’s, his dark eyes filled with concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm huffs and smiles. “It’s hard for me to talk about. My father…” he trails off as the words fight their way out of his mouth, “My father hurt people. He betrayed my family, and hurt me in such a way that there are some things I can’t seem to forget, and others I can’t quite remember. It’s always worse when I come back to the city. Too many memories, too many triggers. You know how it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, man. That sounds really hard. Have you ever thought about looking for your own focus group in D.C?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate the suggestion, but nobody would want to help me through my kind of trauma. Nobody who’s learned the truth so far has, anyway.” Malcolm adds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I wanted you to talk about. I reached out through the VA’s network and found a few places that you might want to get in touch with when you get home.” JT’s hand slides into his pants pocket and pulls out a couple of flyers and some hand scribbled numbers. “Kendrick is a buddy of mine and he runs a fitness program that’s very similar to what we do at the clinic, I’ve called him and said you might give it a shot. No pressure though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm is struck mute for a moment as he stares down at the sheaf of papers. It’s not the first time someone has suggested some sort of PTSD therapy, but this is the first time he doesn’t resent the person for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, JT. I’ll definitely think about it.” Malcolm replies softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT huffs and lets out a small smile. “That’s all I was hoping to hear. I like you, and I wanna help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s stomach does a little flip at JT’s admission, someone admitting that they like him doesn’t happen very often. Although his heart and his hands want to take things further with the handsome counsellor, Malcolm decides to respect JT’s decision on what he needs right now. He needs to change the subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… what was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, right.” JT runs his hand over his buzzed hair nervously. “So, I had a think about what you said on Thursday about finding something I want to do. I’ve decided that I’m going to apply to join the New York police academy..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s face breaks into a huge smile as he exclaims, “That’s great! I think you’ll be a great addition to the force. And if you need a character reference for your application, I know that Gil would be happy to put one forward for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT looks down shyly at Malcolm’s display of enthusiasm. “Thanks Bright, I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I’m about to go and see Gil after this, I’ll mention you’re interested. He might get in touch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men talk easily for another half an hour, until Malcolm can no longer ignore the incessant buzzing in his pocket. After ignoring the sixth call since he’s sat down, Malcolm stands and looks down apologetically at JT. “I’m going to have to cut this short. It seems I need to add my mother to the list of people to say goodbye to today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>JT nods and joins him on his feet, “I get it, man. No worries.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both men take a beat, unsure of how to say goodbye. JT breaks the silence first. “Would you mind if I called every now and then? I feel like you might be less impulsive if someone is checking up on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm smiles and laughs, ‘Sure, just promise me one thing. If you decide that you might be ready to see someone, you give me a call, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal. And what about your job? You gonna look before you leap next time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I’m pretty sure I won’t be changing how I do my job, though. There are some things you just can’t change. Just ask my mom.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Sunday, Noon, 16th Precinct</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm climbed the steps to the precinct with no small amount of trepidation. He had gaps in his memory from his stay in the hospital while recovering from the effects of the paralytic agent. But from what he remembered, Gil hadn’t mentioned Malcolm’s flouting of his instructions relating to the case. Preparing for a barrage from Gil (that he most definitely deserved), he sucked in a deep breath and walked into the precinct foyer for the last time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the security door opens Malcolm is slightly relieved to find Saltos collecting him instead of Gil or Dani. It was hard to come up with small talk at the best of times, but Malcolm reasoned that his limited interactions with Saltos wouldn’t make it seem weird if they didn’t talk as they walked back to Gil’s office. Saltos deposits Malcolm at Gil’s office with nothing more than a nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it isn’t New York’s resident genius.” Gil starts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Snow White, how’s the head?” Dani smirks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm winces. “Yeah, I guess I deserved that one.”  Shuffling slowly to Gil’s desk, he takes a seat and prepares for a dressing down. Gil is leaning back in his chair, Dani is standing off to one side, a gleam in her eye tells him she’s looking forward to this. He glances from Gil to Dani, waiting for the first blow to land.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do I start, kid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, Gil, you don’t have to say it. Going to see Trellis on my own was a stupid idea. I see that now.” Malcolm admits readily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m worried that you couldn’t see that before you went there. You gave me all of a few hours to start looking into Trellis before you took matters into your own hands. You’ve been doing this all week!” Gil shouts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Gil,” Malcolm apologizes, “I have a hard time standing still, you know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That may be so, but it doesn’t excuse you barging into a situation with zero knowledge and putting yourself in danger. Who knows where Trellis was taking you?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm didn’t respond, he’d kept his knowledge about Trellis’s plan to kill him a secret. Trellis had lawyered up and was saying very little to police, his computers and phone records were doing the talking for him. He hadn’t admitted his drowning plan to the police, and Malcolm knew the odds of being able to convict on that charge with the only evidence coming from a drugged-out witness was incredibly slim. Malcolm didn’t think Gil needed to know just how high stakes his rescue was either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least not today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil huffs, expelling the last of his frustration out of his lungs. “I hope you realise how lucky you are that Powell is good at her job, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I am well aware of that, Gil.” Malcolm turns to Dani and says with full sincerity, “Thank you, Dani.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, Bright.” Dani replies. “You’re leaving today, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm frowns, “Yeah, why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like to be able to get back to my job now. All I’ve done this week is save your sorry ass.” Dani cracks a grin, and Malcolm can see Gil’s shoulders bounce up and down as he laughs to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will be forever grateful for your excellent detective skills, Dani.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’ll be grateful for you to take your Bright-ness back to D.C. Informants are nowhere near as hard to work with as you are.” Dani teases.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m only in town for another two hours, so you should be in the clear.” Malcolm confirms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a break in the banter, and Malcolm is relieved to find Gil can find the funnier side to the last few days. Malcolm looks up from his knees to find Gil’s eyes on him, concern shadowing his features. “You worried us pretty good here, Bright. How are you really? Your mom called me this morning asking for you, she said the hospital wasn’t supposed to clear you for discharge for another day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm shrugs, “The mystery paralytic was out of my system by yesterday, and you know how much I hate hospitals. I feel like I was in a car accident, but I’ve definitely been through worse. Look at me, I didn’t even stumble on the way here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stumbling isn’t everything kid, you’ve got more colours on your face than you’d find in a packet of Skittles.” Gil counters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The thing with bruises is that you can’t really feel them! I’m fine Gil, I promise.” Malcolm can tell Gil’s not buying it, but the point is neither here nor there. Malcolm needs to be back at work tomorrow, whether his face looks like a bowl of Skittles or not.  “Can I ask what happened with the case?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dani reaches for a folder on Gil’s desk. “Techs are going through Trellis’s files, he of course lawyered up after his arrest. Perronito’s statement about his involvement is pretty damning, we’re hopeful we can find some evidence on his devices to corroborate the testimony without a confession.” Dani glances at Gil, who nods his head for her to continue. “The DA isn’t sure whether he can press any charges against Trellis for your kidnap. They’re waiting on the analysis of the inhaler to confirm that spraying you was a premeditated act, and we may not find out for weeks if Trellis doesn’t admit to what was in there. Is there else anything you can tell us about what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm considers telling them the truth about what he heard in the car. Ultimately, he’s not seriously hurt and what Gil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “I wish I could, I’m sorry.” Malcolm notes the time and realises he’s running out of it. He just has one more thing to ask Gil. “Jackie isn’t too mad about me missing dinner, is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil manages to pull out a smile. “When she heard about your accident she was more concerned about whether you were okay than dinner. Luckily for you, her pie and vegetable medley will keep for the next few days. But you make sure that we’re your first visit the next time you’re in town, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Gil, I promise.” Malcolm stands and contemplates walking around the desk to say goodbye to Gil. Weighing up the surroundings and his actions in the last few days, Malcolm decides that as much as he might want the contact, now isn’t the best time to seek it out. He settles for a nod at both Gil and Dani before walking towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, kid, where do you think you’re going?” Gil asks behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm turns to find Gil walking around his desk, arms up and ready to embrace him. He smiles and melts into the hug, the familiar scent of coffee and spice instantly relaxing his tired muscles. He’s lucky to have someone who cares about him in his life, and Malcolm makes a promise to himself to not add any more grey hairs to Gil’s goatee the next time he’s in town.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil breaks the hug and holds Malcolm at arms length, his hand finding the back of Malcolm’s neck, the same way it always does. “Alright D.C. boy, I’m guessing you’ve got a flight to catch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I do. It was—I mean—thank you for—no, wait. Start again.” Malcolm takes a deep breath and looks Gil in the eye one last time. “I loved seeing you this week, and working with you and your team. Who knows, maybe you might need someone with my skills in the future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll be the first on my list, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, if we ever need someone to go undercover on a swim team we’ll give you a call.” Dani adds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A pleasure, as always, Detective Powell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any time, Bright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm walks into the hallway and heads back towards the door before something catches his eye on Dani’s desk. It’s a picture of him. From the Mount Sinai auction. His expression is looking past the camera as his mother beams at the photographer to the left. Malcolm can’t believe that she found a copy of the picture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you like my latest artwork? Gotta say, that suit on you is di-<em>vine</em>.” Dani drawls, leaning against the doorjamb to Gil’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you find that picture? It wasn’t by a print photographer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a detective, remember? I happen to be good at my job. Plus, I needed something to remind me of our time together at your place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm blushes slightly. “Well, we’ll always have the pool, I guess. Take care, Dani.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You too, Malcolm Bright.” Dani offers a small wave before stepping back into Gil’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Malcolm is back out onto the street he calls an Uber and uses the ride to think back over his vacation. He may have found a new friend, managed to help disassemble a drug manufacturing ring, and got to work with a man who shaped his life immeasurably. All in the space of a few short days. And he only has a few extra bruises than he would on a normal case to show for it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for taking this journey with us, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed bringing it to life! </p>
<p>Please be sure to check out all the other fics in this amazing Big Bang Collection, the community is so supportive and the stories on offer will blow you away! </p>
<p>See you again for a new story soon! </p>
<p>Han</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would like to thank my non team cheerleaders Sab, Rin and King and all my fellow writers and artists in this Big Bang for all the support over the last few months. If you enjoyed this story, you're 18+ and would like to chat more you can find me on the <a href="https://discord.gg/mnAGDNu">PSon Trash</a> server!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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